The First Contact War: Short Stories
by 1Ragnarok1
Summary: The First Contact War or Clone War was not fought by any one individual, but by many millions of individuals. Republic, Mandalorian and Orion Arm Government troops fought through the three years of war side by side. They fought on the land, the waves, in the heavens above and in the coldness of space. These are their stories.
1. A Metal Machine

The First Contact War Short Stories

Chapter 1

A Metal Machine

" _Tanks come in two forms: the dangerous, deadly kind and the 'liberating' kind." Robert Fisk_

" _Tanks being deployed far forward is an indication of offensive action; tanks in depth is an indication of defensive action." Norman Schwarzkopf  
_

 _22nd November 2621 Earth Standard Calendar, Sergeant Shakra Tutsi, Tynna._

The T-600 Titan Tank, The O.A.G.'s premier main battle tank. Instead of engaging tanks and heavily armoured vehicles like it was designed to, it was now used to destroy houses, small firing holes and camouflaged enemy encampments. It was a metal box made to kill other tanks with a crew of four. A commander, loader, driver and gunner worked together as a well-oiled machine to operate the heavily armoured vehicle. Sergeant Shakra Tutsi, part of the 4150th Armoured Regiment, B Company and the platoon leader's tank's gunner. They were one of three Regiments pushing from the Tynna Badlands to the capital. They started off from a forward base after a large formation of fighters and transport transporting tanks, armoured vehicles and logistical trucks to the airport. A group of Rangers acting as pathfinders cleared the Spaceport.

With the Separatists occupying the city and were pushing aggressively west, the locals had no qualms for more allied troops and units to help them push the aggressors out of their territory. The 4150th Armoured Regiment was given the task to be the forward spear of a large push towards the Capital.

It was the longest one hundred and fifty kilometres in his entire life.

 _23rd November 2621 Earth Standard Calendar, Sergeant Shakra Tutsi, Tynna._

"Hey Hawk!" screamed a gruff voice, waking him from his sleep, "wake up!"

Stirring from his sleep, Shakra lifted up the cap he had placed over his face. He slept in the small pit at the very bottom of the tank on the right side of the cannon's breech where the gunnery optics and fire system were. Just above him sat Specialist Walt Ingram, their loader. He was a strong former football player who chucked forty pounds of shells into the breech to load the powerful Smoothbore 240mm Main Gun. Strong-arm, the nickname they gave Ingram, too was sleeping in his small and uncomfortable station. The voice belonged to Second Lieutenant Peter Bergman, gruff, rough and with a bald head to boot, he was easily one of the most frightening men in the entire Regiment. At seven years of experience, Bergman was a recent second lieutenant officer. Having served as a Staff Sergeant and gone through the Officer Candidate School after attaining his degree in Business, was now back to commanding a tank platoon as a leader instead of being 2IC (Second in Command).

"Yes sir!" Shakra bellowed, with his eyes still shut.

He sat up and threw his hat to the side, hearing the light ruffling of cloth as it landed right in the bag he had placed for personal belongings and reached down for his helmet. The lightweight helmet sat snuggly on his head as he heard the roar of gas turbine engines screaming to life. It was loud enough that even with earbuds in his ears and a headset covering my ears, the engine's roar still bled through.

"Porter!" Bergman screamed, "start the engine and prepare to move out."

"We got the briefing LT?" Strong-arm asked, wiping his mouth.

"Yeah and I'll brief the three of you while we're enroute," Bergman explained, his voice buzzing in my ears as he sat with his upper body outside of the tank, "Porter, get the tank on the road and follow A Company out onto the main road. We're going to the Capital boys!"

"We green lit for bringing the fight to the Sepi's sir?" Shakra asked, rubbing his eye and powering up the thermal gun sight.

"You got it Hawk. We've got about four days before the _OAG Valkyrie_ floats on over to the Capital and the Separatist ships are parked right in her path! We cannot, repeat, _cannot_ lose the _OAG Valkyrie_. She has a VIP on board that needs to get to the Capital," Bergman replied as their engine roared to life and hummed idly.

"Following A Company's last vehicle, roger sir!" Porter yelled in reply, the T-600 Titan suddenly lurched forward.

 _"All Victors, this is War Hawk Actual, we are rolling towards the capital and will be meeting heavy, repeat, heavy resistance! Marine Force Recon units have reported a large number of AATs! AAT-1Bs and yes, it is the one with the bunker buster rounds! We aren't fighting innies anymore, we aren't fighting the farmers anymore, and this is an actual tank on tank slugfest! Not all of us will live, not a lot of us will come out unscathed, but this is our job! We start the fight, we finish the fight!"_ screamed Lieutenant Colonel Joshua Peary, the leader of the 4150th Armoured Regiment, riding in the middle of the entire formation.

"Hawk, scan left," ordered Bergman.

"You got it sir," Shakra breathed, tilting the yoke left to hear the turret buzz in reply.

The sound of the tracks rumbled beneath his feet like a bundle of logs rolling down the hill. Bobbing up and down, the tank's suspension did as much as it could with new air suspension hissing from the sixty-five tons being pressed down on the chassis. A loud whump suddenly pulled him out of his trance. Shakra glanced up and pressed his eyes to the optics. Distant gunfire peppered the still air like small firecrackers. Not even half a mile out of the gate and the action had already begun. His head snapped back at Lieutenant Bergman. His face was stoic, calm and collected like a face chiselled out of stone.

A sigh escaped the visage.

"MARSOC and Force Recon has started their assault," murmured Bergman into the intercom, "if all goes well, we'll be able to ride into the Capital without their artillery smashing holes into us. Here's to hoping that they do their job correctly."

The Lieutenant took a sip from his camelback.

"Strong-arm, you take first watch. I haven't slept a fucking wink since last night's briefing," grumbled Bergman.

"Yes sir," grumbled Strong-arm, "I've already slept like three hours anyway…"

Bergman slid down from the hatch, slipping into Strong-arm's seat. He pulled out a small pillow from Strong-arm's pack and placed it around his neck. Bergman leaned against the metal hull of the tank with his travel pilot and closed his eyes. Seconds later, he started snoring from exhaustion. Shakra sighed understanding the hours of boredom he had in front of him. Traveling to the frontlines would take at least three to four hours and even then trapped in a vibrating metal crate didn't help.

Hours later, Shakra groaned and flipped his wrist over to see the seconds ticking past on his digital watch. The boredom was quickly forgotten as a loud bang slammed into the side of the tank. A fast moving wall of dust almost threw Strong-arm from the commander's hatch and outside the tank. Bergman was already awake when the initial explosion happened. His eyes were reddened and angry. Porter brought the sixty-five-ton tank to an abrupt stop. There was a silent pause, the engine still humming excitedly in my ears.

Shakra was confused.

"Strong-arm, get the fuck back down here!" Bergman yelled, scrambling up to the hatch.

There was another pause.

Then, an order.

"Load Sabot, direction 014 at one thousand five hundred and three meters! Tank hiding behind a slope, hull down!" screamed Bergman with urgency.

"Load Sabot, direction 014!" Shakra echoed and slammed his eye into the gunner's sight.

"Load Sabot!" Strong-arm confirmed as Shakra heard the rustling behind him.

He tilted the yoke left and heard the whirl of the turret swivelling. Through the gunsight, he peeked through to see nothing but darkness and the slowly rising sun. He pressed a switch and turned the gunsight from normal light to thermal vision. A small patch of dirt was lighter than the test and it wasn't just that one patch, it was a row of them pointed straight at them. Then Shakra heard a ripple of whumps and bangs. A quick moving series of light soared through the sky before slamming into the slope with many of the rays bouncing off the slopes. He aimed the turret at one of the lighter patches of dirt and watched a small rectangular box appear and hover over the patch.

"Sabot, up!" Strong-arm yelled.

"On the way," He screamed in reply and stomped on the foot activated trigger.

There was a whump as he felt the tank rock backwards, the bright dart of light was the sabot that had exited the barrel. It flew into the sky and slowly dropped just from above the slope and disappeared in a bright flash of light.

"Fuck! ERA, ERA, load Sabot!" Shakra screamed, and pulled himself off of the sight.

"Porter, turn the tank in the same direction of the gun and move one hundred meters off the road! Do it now!" screamed Bergman.

"Yes sir!" Porter screamed back.

The tank jerked forward suddenly. He looked back and up to see Strong-arm slamming the ammunition storage door open. He pulled out a shell as big as his arm and turned around. He slammed down on the gun breach, opening the chamber to the moving main gun. Strong-arm shoved the shell into the open and smoking breech. The burly man swung the chamber close as the thick ammunition storage door slammed shut. Strong-arm's rehearsed movement allowed him to load the shell extremely quickly, within twenty to thirty seconds of the door opening.

"Sabot, up!" Strong-arm replied, barely panting.

Shakra turned back and looked through the sight, confirming the gun was still on target. Seeing the lighter patch still there, he slammed his foot down on the trigger. There was silence in reply. He slammed his foot down again to hear nothing. Looking back up, he caught Strong-arm's gaze.

"Misfire?" Shakra asked on the intercom before his eyes caught a lever that wasn't pulled upwards, "arm the fucking gun Strong!"

"Sorry," he grumbled and slammed the lever up, "up!"

"On the way!" Shakra screamed and looked back down the gunner sight.

The reticule bobbed up and down as it tried to compensate for the movement of the sixty-five-ton tank. Shakra waited for the right moment. Just as the reticule bobbed upwards as far as it would go, it started to sink back down. Right before the reticule touched the sloped ground – Shakra stomped on the trigger. There was a satisfying thump from the main gun. Shakra watched the shell disappear from the recoil. Seconds later, the tank rocked forward and came to a complete stop. Shakra tried to open my eyes as wide as they would go to see the impact of the shell. A loud clang from behind Shakra told him that Strong-arm had ejected the shell and was patiently waiting to load the next. And there it was, a small spark of white light among the green of the thermal sight.

"Hit! Load HEAT!" Shakra screamed, aiming the tank cannon back at the same spot on the mound of blown out dirt.

"Load HEAT!" Strong-arm screamed, Shakra could already hear the shell being slid into the breech and locked with a clank. Just as Strong-arm screamed, "HEAT up!" Shakra saw the lighter shade of green start to move and it was adjusting its aim towards us.

Shakra slammed the trigger.

 _Whump!_

The tank recoiled once again, the round arcing predictably down towards the light green patch. A small spark of white erupted from the shape before a loud explosion erupted from behind the mound. A fountain of white light shot out from the mound and the light green patch was blown clean from the AAT's body before slamming back down on the Earth with a puff of dirt and dust. A smile started to form on his face but the happiness didn't last as a loud klaxon went off inside the tank. Shakra looked up to Bergman to see him locking the hatch close.

"ATGM!" Bergman screamed.

 _Pop! Pop! Bang! Bang!_

A pair of pops exploded from outside the tank. The TROPHY Active Protection System went active, firing small discs into the air before detonating them to destroy the warheads. Shakra could hear the remnants of the flying rockets splatter the side of the Titan with the sound of water splashing against sheet metal, except the water was burning hot shrapnel. When Shakra thought the onslaught was over, the tank was rocked with another hit. A loud explosion slammed into the right side of the Titan and made the sixty-five-ton main battle tank lift off one of its tracks.

"What the fuck was that?!" Porter screamed on the intercom.

"ERA, ERA, ERA strike!" Bergman yelled at the report, tapping on his commander's vehicle system display, "Porter! Face 026! Same direction Hawk, scan for the fucking target!"

The tank jerked towards the right. Hull being directed straight at the incoming rounds instead of being sideways. The rear and sides of the tank were the most vulnerable to tank rounds if it weren't for the extra ERA plates bolted onto the tank to stop the tank rounds and multi-shape charge rockets. With the introduction of the new T-600 Titans, NERA plates were bolted on optionally to the front of the turret and different sights were moved towards the top of the turret instead of remaining at the front. Extra ERA plates were fitted to the front of the tank to better help protect the driver and maintain a more aggressive frontal profile against tanks firing from directly in front of the Titans. Spall lining was mounting on the vulnerable rear of the Titans to stop rockets that slip past the active protection system as opposed to actual tank rounds.

Shakra spotted the AATs through the thermal sight speeding across open ground with its turret slightly exposed from behind the same dirt mound. Slewing the turret far ahead of the speeding tank, Shakra locked the turret and turned to Strong-arm whose hand was on the ammunition door button.

"Strong-arm, load sabot! Then load HEAT! Understood?!" Shakra screamed into the intercom and waving to get his already focused attention.

"Load sabot, then HEAT! Got it!" he bellowed and slammed the lever opening up the main gun's breech.

Strong-arm pressed the button opening the storage. The five-inch thick ammunition door slid open quickly and quietly as he pulled out the shell and held the heavy projectile in his bulging elbows. He positioned the sharp end of the sabot round over the entrance of the cannon briefly before slamming the giant shell home. It locked into place with a loud clunk as the breech was mechanically closed after the shell was loaded into place. Shakra glued his eyes back into the gunner sight. Watching the Separatist MBT unmagnified, Shakra waited for Strong-arm's signal and for the tank to get closer. It was just a few seconds away from where he needed it to be.

"Sabot up!" Strong-arm screamed a few seconds later quickly after the clank of the arming lever.

His breathing stopped, the pounding in my ears grew louder and louder as time seemed to slow. Shakra magnified the thermal sight. A second later, the Separatist main battle tank appeared on the screen. Just as the AAT reached the right most of the target reticule, he slammed his foot on the trigger and felt the tank recoil. There was a loud whump and a clang that rang in his ears. It was the sound of the electric primer being discarded into a small tinny metal box. The round arced over the mound and slammed through thick metal meeting the Spearatist main battle tank with a small glow of white light. Shakra could see the impact was from the rear of the tank. The armoured vehicle screeching to a halt. There was another series of clangs, clanks and clunks next to me.

There was another clank followed by, "HEAT up!"

Shakra twisted the yoke hard to the right for a split second, making sure to be quick and aiming at the centre of the tank instead of the rear. Shakra slammed on the trigger and another jolt shot through the tank. There was another whump and the distinct clang of the electric primer rattling into the discarding container. He watched as the hatch of the tank opened just as the shell was fired. A shape climbed out of the turret, turning around before there was a large spark of blinding white light. Then a large explosion erupted from the AAT that consumed the entire greenish hue of the main battle tank. One moment the silhouette was there, the next was a burning wreckage of a tank with its ammunition storage on fire and detonated.

A breath escaped his mouth as Shakra blinked.

Once, then twice.

He pulled away from the eyepiece, drained.

 _"All Victors, War Hawk Actual, report!"_ came the bellowing yell of Colonel Peary.

"War Hawk 1, sound off," Lieutenant Bergman spoke into the radio.

 _"War Hawk 12, track is shot. Received a couple of blows but 12 is operation, should be five mikes before the tracks repaired. Over,"_ the second tank in their platoon replied.

 _"War Hawk 13, multiple hits received and one round penetrated the turret. Sabot missed the ammunition storage but…"_ there was a solemn pause over the radio, _"Gunnery Sergeant Lucas Jeffords was KIA'ed during the engagement."_

"Oh fuck," murmured Bergman, "alright. I'll get someone to fill in from the Regiment. Shakra, you're Tango Charlie now. Stand-by for a new loader, get Huerta to man the gun."

 _"Roger that 1 Actual,"_ replied Sergeant Brian, the third tank's gunner.

 _"War Hawk 1 Actual, War Hawk 14, front right turret ERA has to be replaced and one of our oil coolers are shot. The sabot went through the rear spall lining and pierced the primary oil cooler. Second round did the same thing to our secondary cooler. We're not moving anywhere until our engine gets replaced,"_ sighed War Hawk 14's tank commander.

"War Hawk Actual, War Hawk 1 Actual, two Victors combat ineffective, two Victors still combat effective. War Hawk 13 needs a new loader Actual," Bergman murmured with a long sigh, rubbing his temples vigorously.

 _"Roger that War Hawk 1, stand by and wait out,"_ Colonel Peary replied curtly.

"So much for that," grunted Bergman, "did not think that I would see fucking Galactic War on my first tour of duty."

"What do we do now sir?" Shakra asked, suddenly realizing that his throat was dry.

"We wait for the new loader to sub in for one-three and then we continue moving. We push straight to the fucking capital and wipe of any sepi's we see along the way," grunted Bergman, "we don't stop until that fucking planet is clear of sepi's and the OAG Valkyrie sails over that capital!"

"Hoorah sir," Shakra replied.


	2. The Flying Freight Train

**The First Contact War Short Stories**

 **Chapter 2**

The Flying Freight Train

 _"The bomber will always get through. The only defense is in offense, which means that you have to kill more women and children more quickly that the enemy if you want to save yourselves." Stanley Baldwin_

 _April 3rd 2623,_ _Colonel Martin Rehl, O.A.G. Airfield Camp Lancer, Antar._

Colonel Martin Rehl nodded and walked towards the nearest bomb rack. As briefed, it was loaded with dark green M227 bombs of a 750-pound weight. He carefully examined the weapons to make sure they were properly attached and fused for the mission. Because of the sheer size of the Longsword bomber, he would not be able to look over every nook and cranny, and instead have to rely on the mechanics for the minute details while he made sure the machine was ready overall. He turned around and began walking back towards the front.

Toby took the responsibility of inspecting the right side. The first thing he noted was that the ground crew had given "Spirit 1-1" the addition of some nose art on his side of the cockpit. A powerful-looking train engine in colours similar to the O.A.G. flag came ploughing onwards from a thick blanket of smoke, the words _"Flying Freight Train"_ inscribed in red letters at the bottom. The whole piece had a very glossy tone. Toby cracked a smile as he observed it.

"Hey Staff Sergeant, who painted this up?" he asked as the crew chief approached him.

"Airman Davis, sir. He thought it'd boost your guys' confidence." The man said with the same expression.

"I like it, I like it." Toby said with a chuckle.

Toby's side essentially looked the same as his pilots, and after their inspection he walked towards the entrance hatch on the underside of the starcraft. He hunkered down, almost on his hands and knees because of his size, and maneuverer inside the bomber. He picked up the pace as he reached the ladder that would take him to the proper deck, grunting as he hoisted his big frame upwards. Colonel Rehl was already strapping in as he arrived and slid on his helmet, running up the Longsword so it could work on its own power. Toby went through his switches and displays as he tightened the straps. He looked at Martin, who gave his co-pilot a nod.

"Okay, start this honey up." He said. Toby nodded and started bringing the bomber to life. On either side the engines began to whir as they were awoken and harnessed

"Roger, we're on our own power now." Toby said. His blood was pumping now as the displays and instruments also came to life.

"Okay everyone, let's get these preliminary checks done. Hustle!" Martin said. He waited to hear their confirmations, carefully sticking a photo of his family in the lip of the eyebrow window. He looked at Toby, who returned his gaze expectantly.

"Co-pilot ready." He added.

"Navigator ready." Captain Terrance Miller said.

"Bombardier ready." 1Lt. Bruce Lewicki reported.

"EW Officer ready." 1Lt. Sampson Burns assured. Martin fired up the radio.

"Bullock Tower, this is Spirit 1-1, requesting taxi instructions, how copy?" Martin asked as he checked his oxygen mask.

 _"Spirit 1-1, Bullock Tower, cleared to taxi to Runway 1-A; hold at the end until further instructions are given."_ A voice replied.

Martin released the brakes and followed an aircraft director as she beckoned the Longsword from its place and into a turn to go down the ramp towards the entrance to the runway. He glanced at the other Longswords as they waited to taxi; it made him feel like a general reviewing his troops before battle. He looked forward again and carefully maneuverer the Longsword to the right, moving carefully. The machine came to a halt as it faced down the runway, engines humming at low power.

"Bullock Tower, requesting conditions and clearance." Martin said as he lowered his visor to shield his eyes from the setting sun. There was a pause as the tower checked the weather.

 _"Spirit 1-1, winds blow from east to west at around 8 knots, looks like we may have a storm come through later so be ready for slick runways."_ The tower reported.

"Roger that, request takeoff instructions." Martin replied.

 _"You're clear 1-1, good luck and Godspeed."_

With a breath, Martin shoved the throttles on his side forward, Toby doing the same on his. The Longsword lurched forward, it's wings appearing to have the rigidness of paper as they bounced a little. Toby felt a smile curling across his face as the forces of acceleration worked their magic on them. The speedometer crawled upwards. The younger pilot constantly took glances at his pilot's stick so they could work in a coordinated matter.

"You know the drill, Ozark." Martin reminded him quickly. Toby's head snapped forward.

"Yes sir." He said.

Toby stuck his head to shoulders and kept his eyes forward as the bomber was rolling up past 100 miles an hour. As the runway end came closer, the two pilots pulled back on their control sticks. Toby felt the ground become separated from him as they cleared the runway and began their climb to 20,000 feet.

"Spirit 1-1 is airborne." Martin said…

 _April 4th 2623, Colonel Martin Rehl,_ _Chanosent System (closest planet: Chanosent)_

Toby eyed his watch as midnight passed without event. They'd been aloft for a handful of hours by now, and the border was getting close, close enough that now the crew had the ECM suite in their craft ready to work. He looked over the switches again before returning to giving his map another round of attention.

"How you holding up there, Ozark?" Martin asked.

"Pretty good sir, can't even bother to be tired." He replied, glancing up.

"You can call me by my tag: TBG." Martin nodded.

"How'd you get that name, sir?" Toby asked, mildly amused.

"It stands for "That Bomber Guy". Some Zero pilot called me that after I blew past him during their annual missile exercise, Longbow, and everyone loved it." Martin replied with a wide grin.

"Way better story than how I got mine; it's just a play on my slight drawl." Toby admitted.

"Aww come on Ozark, we still love yah!" Burns insisted from his position further back.

"Haha, I appreciate it, Crispy." Toby said.

"Navigation, how far are we from the refuelling point?" He added as he glanced at his map.

"About 90 miles or so." Miller reported.

Toby tried to find something to occupy his time with while Martin controlled the monumental aircraft. He was staving off thoughts about Violet and fatherhood as long as he could. He did not want them clouding his judgment or ability to react to an adverse situation. He glanced out the window by the Colonel to see if he could spot Spirit 1-2, then his own to try and spot 1-3 and 1-4. Finally he succumbed to the nagging thought and decided he'd let himself think about what was gonna happen. It was a broken record at this point, minus the details. Violet still had her own life and job, so he had to plan with her about that. He'd given damage control the bird now after telling his sister.

"Hey, you still awake over there, Lieutenant?"

The co-pilot jolted up straight and looked over towards Rehl.

"Yes sir, you were saying?" He replied in a respectful tone.

"Wanna take the stick for a while, Ozark?" Martin asked. Toby nodded pretty quickly. It would be a good way to get his mind off things.

"Sure thing, TBG." He said, relaxing a little. The call sign sill came out a little awkwardly. He quickly decided to drop it.

The young man put his hands on the control yoke and waited until he was told he had the aircraft. He looked out the cockpit at the planet of Chanosent. He could see the lights of cities below. In the cloudless night, he had an almost unlimited view of the skies, at least for now. That storm still had him a little aware about their return to base. For now though, the big event was hitting the rail yard, and before that getting into Chanosent. There was also the matter of their escort he thought as he keyed up the radio.

"Clairvoyant this is Spirit 1-1, what's the status of our refueling aircraft and escort?" He asked.

 _"Condor and Moose Flights are enroute, and Mason Jar is in holding pattern, awaiting your arrival."_ A controller aboard a single Prowler Stealth ship spoke up.

"Understood Clairvoyant, we'll give Mason Jar a ring in a few minutes." Toby replied.

With 70 miles to the border, they arrived at the proper refuelling point. The crew heard the chatter as other jets topped off with one tanker before it left, and its relief rolled in without skipping a beat. Toby kept the stick as the radio came to life again.

 _"Spirit 1-1, this is Mason Jar 3-1, pull into refueling pattern, how copy?"_

"Roger that, 3-1, Spirit 1-1 is pulling into refueling pattern." Martin confirmed.

He looked out the window and saw another aircraft's light in the distance. His eyes adjusted to make out the shape of a KC-135R Supertanker. The pilot set his hands on the control stick as the junior pilot guided the Longsword towards the other starship. For Toby, this was nothing to sweat about; he'd refuelled in mid-air before in both night and day, and it was nothing compared to what might lay ahead. He adjusted his speed and movement to fall in line behind the tanker starship.

 _"Okay 1-1; bring her down to 18,000."_ The KC-135 instructed.

Toby carefully pushed the yolk forward and eyed the altimeter as they descended. Almost as quickly as he'd begun to he pulled back into level flight, levelling out at the proper altitude in mere seconds. He carefully adjusted the throttles to make a safe approach to the KC-135's refuelling boom, turning on the FLIR camera mounted on the Longsword's chin to give himself some additional assistance.

"Open the refuelling door." He said.

Martin reached out and hit the proper switch. Above and behind them the Longsword's refuelling door was exposed to the open air. The Supertanker became bigger and bigger as the distance closed.

 _"Steady…steady…"_ the boom operator in the back of the flying gas pump intoned.

Toby went back to his eyes as he got too close to use the FLIR. He watched as the tanker made its own manoeuvres to come down and ease the boom and receptacle together. It was a performance as calculated as a ballet, the two ships easing towards each other and matching moves.

 _"Okay 1-1, hold her there."_ The boom operator instructed.

Martin joined in controlling the bomber as they balanced it on every aspect of its travel from heading to speed to the stability of its level flight. The KC-135 closed the space and its rainbow-colored probe extended.

 _"Hold…Hooooold."_ The boom operator stressed.

Toby bit his lower lip and waited. He glanced down at the control panel, waiting for the green light to flick on. His eyes then snapped back towards the sky in front of them and keeping the Longsword stable. In the corner of his vision he saw the awaited signal.

"Fuel's flowing, green light." Martin spoke up.

"Roger that, green light's on for us, too." The boom operator replied.

The two starships held in position as they completed the transfer, precious fuel gushing into the tanks of the bomber. Martin watched as the fuel gauge climbed back up towards max capacity. They were scheduled for a total fill-up, but they would get enough to manoeuvre and hit their target.

"Okay 1-1, you're cleared to pull away. Spirit 1-2, your turn." The Supertanker announced as the green light went off and the boom pulled out of the receptacle.

"Co-pilot still has the plane." Toby said as he maneuverer the Longsword away from the machine. As Spirit 1-2 maneuverer into place for its fuel, the radio came to life again.

 _"Clairvoyant here. Spirit 1-3, Spirit 1-4, you're being rerouted to a new target. Condor 1 will escort you while Condor 2 stays with 1-3 and 1-4. Mongoose will stay with Spirit 1-1 and 1-2, how copy?"_ their AWACS informed them. Martin's face scrunched up in annoyance.

"Clairvoyant, can you please specify why 1-3 and 1-4 are being retasked?" He demanded.

 _"J-STARS just informed us of a new target of opportunity and Spirit 1-3 and 1-4 have what they need. You and Spirit 1-2 are to proceed with original mission immediately while they refuel."_ The controller said, getting a little more blunt. Martin ground his teeth together for a second, then grudgingly nodded.

"Roger that, Spirit 1-1 and 1-2 are proceeding with original mission."

 _"We've still got 102 bombs between us and 1-2, sir. I think we can level em still."_ Toby consoled.

"For everyone's sake I hope you're right." Martin said as they left the two other bombers and tanker behind.

"Okay, 68 miles to the border." Miller updated. Martin grunted in confirmation.

 _"Spirit 1, this is Mongoose 1. We are moving into position to clear you a corridor, how copy?"_ a female voice said.

"Roger that Mongoose, we are roughly 60 miles from the border, standby." Martin shot back.

 _"Roger that. Be advised Condor's hit a bit of a delay so they'll be a minute or two late, how copy?"_

"What kind of delay?"

 _"Minor accident on the runway at Heirlark from what I hear."_

Martin wasn't impressed. First he'd been stripped of two of his bombers and now the much-needed Sabres were going to be late. These were things he'd given thought but nonetheless hoped would never happen. For the moment, he and is compatriots were relatively safe, but that would be just a piece of the past when they got close enough to be reached by the CIS air defence network. He'd gotten little to no word regarding the Wild Weasels that were supposed to be making the path even clearer.

Toby, meanwhile, was feeling he was even further away from Bullock and Violet than he already was. He had no desire to try and take on whatever fighters or missiles the CIS had set along their path alone. For a second he'd been granted a slot for Sabres or Broadswords, then he'd feel much safer. He began muttering Hail Mary prayers repeatedly as he searched for some solace. Out ahead the city lights were mostly gone, and he could even see a trail of smoke or two. He checked all his gauges and displays again to make sure they were still working, even giving one or two a tap. The ECM had begun to make a less friendly sound as he was told that out in the vast expanse, unfriendly radars were watching. He wondered about Violet a little more to calm himself, hoping she was still able to sleep without him by her side…

They weren't even 40 miles from the border when the hits came onto the screen and the ECM got suspicious. It was already bad enough that their fighter escort had been delayed, but now it was even worse that they had visitors. "Slick" Lewicki frowned and secured his oxygen mask back over his face. Now came the really interesting part of this flight.

"Pilot, Bombardier, we've got two bogeys on radar. They don't look to friendly to me." He piped up.

Toby and Martin's eyes instantaneously went to their own radar display. Toby decided not to take any chances despite the IFF's lack of squawk and the ECM's warnings.

"Clairvoyant this is Spirit 1-1, we've got radar contacts at heading 090, 230 miles. Can you verify as bandits?" He asked.

 _"Roger that 1-1, we see em. Targets confirmed as bandits. Radar sig looks like Foxhounds."_ Their friend from faraway said after a minute. Toby looked at his pilot.

"Vultures, sir. Fast suckers, can hit about….Mach 2.8 in the right conditions." He said, recalling what Jane's latest edition of their aircraft guide had recorded.

"Alright then, EW dump out some chaff! Make it look like there's a whole fucking bunch of us!" Martin ordered.

"Clairvoyant, we're gonna need some help here, any friendlies in the area?" He added.

 _"Hang on, Condor 1 is inbound."_ The Sentry assured.

"Roger that. EW, is our tail jammer working good?" Martin asked.

"Yes sir, all systems are nominal." Burns assured.

Martin grumbled and cursed his superiors as the threats approached. Just a few years ago they would've had a M61 cannon in the back to defend themselves, but now they just had some extra electronics to jam the incoming bandits. And he couldn't engage as they bombs in they carried prevented them from dogfighting.

"Pilot has the stick." Toby announced as he returned control to the senior pilot.

"We'll both have it; we're gonna need it." Martin interjected. Toby nodded and rotated the stiffness from his neck.

"Keep talking to me Ozark, how do we beat these things until those Sabres arrive?" Martin said.

"Vultures are designed to intercept starships like us and fight for air superiority. Practically the whole reason they exist. Won't be as bad as dealing with a Navy Broadsword, but that ain't saying much." Ozark said, feeling sweat in his hair.

"Chaff is going out like a motherfucker." Burns said, keeping cool. Outside the Longsword, chaff came like a blizzard from the bomber's rear section.

"Looks like one of em's going for lock, we might have to get low regardless of design or else we're a big bull's-eye waiting to be hit." Martin said as they got warnings.

"Roger that sir." Toby agreed.

They had few options at this point, and the mountains might give them a little bit of an advantage. They couldn't push the big bird too hard or else it'd stall, break its wings, etc. The lieutenant's mind was race and calculating, as was his commander's. The former may not have given the impression but he was a sharp one.

"Missiles in the air; two of em at twelve o' clock!"

Burns's call sent a shock through Toby's spine.

"Spirit 1-2, break formation and evade! Everyone else, hang on!" Martin said. The time for debate was now gone; they were going low regardless.

Toby pressed his control yolk forward in unison with the Colonel. He quickly realized that the mountains wouldn't be far enough apart to provide effective cover, and they'd just be skimming the top while the Vultures took more shots. It caused the sweat to pick up just a little as it slid down his face and under his mask. He felt himself beginning to breathe a little faster. But there had to be a way out of this…his mind tried to connect the dots, but they were too scared of drifting from the matter at hand to try, even if it would help them.

"Toby…" A soft voice said.

In his mind, the image of Violet came to him. She was lying beneath him, the morning after that night a month ago, when the chain of events that's lead to now had just started rolling. She was still clothed in only the sheets, with her arms above her head as she looked back at him.

"Please…Come back to me…" She whispered (though that line hadn't been uttered that particular morning). It made a confident grin spread across Toby's face. He hated to disappoint people. Her image also served th console his mind.

The two missiles fell for the blizzard of chaff and passed by the Longsword without so much as a thought, but the ECM told them that they weren't out of the woods yet. Martin made the disturbing observation that his co-pilot was grinning as they readied themselves for the next volley.

"You gonna say something Ozark or just sit there with a dopey-ass grin on your mug?" He demanded. Ozark cast him a confident glance.

"There's a pass, sir, near our entry point into Belka, might be big enough for us to use." He said as the altimeter spun downwards, his brain calmed by the quick vision.

"Well shit, son, why didn't you say so? Where?" the Colonel asked.

"It should be directly ahead if my map is correct, sir. I suggest we use the FLIR and Miller to check." Toby replied.

Martin reached down and activated the camera. His co-pilot took the burden of evading while he searched for the gap. He found it pretty quickly and slaved the camera to it.

"Okay, let's get low and fast. Spirit 1-2, follow us!" Martin said.

 _"Spirit 1-2, roger."_

The two pilots brought the Longsword to the left and began to descend, more missiles on their way. Burns kept steady as he worked the ECM, watching the missile tracks as they came towards the two bombers. He deployed more chaff to deflect the radar-guided weapons as he felt the bomber rocketing down towards the earth.

"Miller, we on course to that pass?" Martin asked. The Bombardier glared at his displays.

"Roger that, we are approaching a pass; high terrain on both sides." He reported.

"Condor, what's your status?" Martin asked as the Vultures came into visual range, displaying their large intakes and pointed noses for a second before descending at the bomber. The ECM told the them the threat had changed to heatseekers.

 _"Two minutes, we're in afterburner."_ The lead Sabre promised.

"We're at 8000 feet." Toby reported almost immediately after.

"Roger that, get through the pass before those Vultures get on our ass." Martin said.

Toby bit his lower lip again as the walls of the terrain came up, almost in unison with the announcement they were in Chanosant airspace. Outside he could see details of the terrain flashing by. He relied on the ECM for the time, listening as the tone changed. Ahead he saw the triangular shape of a mountain appear.

"Bring her up, bring her up." Martin said rapidly.

They both pulled back the yolks and screamed towards 19,000 feet again, almost parallel with the slope towards the top and eased the angle as energy bled off.

"Burns, were are those Vultures?" Martin asked.

"They passed over Spirit 1-2; they're turning around now."

Martin wished even more that they had the M61. Hell, if they got close enough he could whip out his sidearm and take a shot or two! But his demands for defence were soon met by two calls.

 _"Condor 1-1, Fox 3!"_

 _"Condor 1-2, Fox 3!"_

The ECM became less worried, causing Martin to dare a look out his window. He saw one of the Vultures as it raced ahead of the Longsword and to the North. In the distance he saw the small twinkles and smoke trails of AMRAAMs. The man chuckled.

"Go get em, Little Friends." He said.

 _"Spirit 1, bug out towards your target. Condor 1-3 and 1-4 will escort while we bag these guys."_ Condor 1-1's pilot urged.

"Don't have to tell us twice." Toby agreed.

They turned the Longsword onto the right vector and waited until Spirit 1-2 was on their wing before getting down to business.

"Bombardier, distance to target?" Martin asked.

"Target is 50 miles out."

Martin gave a snappy "roger that" and adjusted the throttles on his side, Toby following suit quickly. They levelled the Longsword out at 18,000 feet and formed a standard left-sided echelon with Spirit 1-2. Condor 1, now reformed, moved above and forward of the bombers.

"There." Toby pointed out, lifting a hand and pointing almost directly north.

Out in the distance, the two pilots could see a few dots, lights. It was no surprise the city would be blacked out to make things easier for the gunners defending it. Martin was still waiting on some word regarding the SEAD they'd been promised.

"Clairvoyant, this is Spirit 1-1, any word on enemy AAA in the target vicinity?" He radioed, under toning his words with "just give me a yes or no, dammit".

 _"We've been told that they came through a few hours ago; did what they could. Expect there to still be resistance, though."_

Martin gave a satisfied "roger that" and steadied himself. They crossed the 40 mile mark and the ECM came back to life. The Sentry gave some clarification.

 _"Condor 1, Clairvoyant, we've got four more bandits on our scopes. Heading 035 at 70 miles, Angels 15. Looks like more Vultures."_ The Prowler spoke up.

 _"Roger that. Spirit, we'll draw them off you while you make your bomb runs. Good luck._ " The lead Sabre said as his flight broke off.

"Roger that. Spirit 1-2, what's your status?" Martin said.

 _"Still in position and ready to drop."_

"Roger, release your internal payload first in case you get hit; can't jettison your bomb bay, yah know." The Colonel said.

 _"Roger that, 1-1."_

The rail yard was in the FLIR's view now. Toby felt his heart beat a little faster as they closed within 35 miles. He glanced at his pilot, who was busy keeping the jet steady like him. The ECM panel was telling them both ground-based radars were present. SAMs.

"Looks like an SA-6." Burns reported.

"Fatherland Division troops?" Toby suggested. As fearsome as the name "Fatherland Division" sounded, it was the title given to B-Class reservists whom took the jobs the actual Chanosant Army couldn't cover while it fought. One of these was air defence inside Chanosant.

"Probably." Martin offered.

Burns dumped more chaff at the scattered SAMs sitting below while Lewicki began setting up the proper prerequisites for the run. He furiously flipped switches and checked numbers. In his mind he had no regrets. The CIS had wanted war, and now the 3323rd was about to deliver 40,500 pounds worth to them. Payback really was a bitch.

"Bombardier, open the bay doors and arm the bombs. Set for ripple release, front-to-back." Martin radioed.

"Roger that, sir."

Toby began getting tense again. He blinked and reminded himself again of Violet, of Alicia. His mind simplified and rationalized his job so he could focus. He reached down and rested a hand on the throttles so they could get moving out of the area.

"Twenty miles; Opening bomb bay doors." Lewicki reported.

Toby began sending out his love to all those important to him, as did everyone. Not out of fear, but of self-assurance. When they hit 13 miles, the co-pilot saw a bright flash outside. It was only present for a second before only a black cloud remained. The same process began to happen across the sky.

"Flak." He called out, wondering if he should slide down his visor.

"We've got three missiles airborne at two o' clock! Dumping more chaff!"

Toby and Martin pushed their yolks and the throttles forward as the Gainfuls clambered up towards them. The CO of the squadron called for Spirit 1-2 to break formation to defend itself.

"Sir, we're almost on top of the target!" Lewicki called.

"Roger that, drop em! Bombs away!" Martin ordered.

"Spirit 1-1, bombs away." Toby said as the second missile lost its track.

After hours of sitting still, the clips of 750-pound bombs began their ride with gravity. They fell in a near-perfect line, fish-tailing a little as they hit the open air before continuing their fall.

"Should I switch to the pylons, sir?" Lewicki asked.

"Standby, we've got one last SAM to outsmart. Let's hope the jamming is doing plenty." Martin said.

The two pilots banked the Longsword to the left with care, their wingman following them. Toby looked out his windows for the SA-6, waiting for the shockwave or the ECM to calm down. The former came in a two-fold punch. First, he felt his frame rattled as two flak bursts got a little close, then a real shake came as the final Gainful exploded nearby. Immediately assuming the worse, his eyes frantically danced over the panels for red lights. His eyes locked onto the engine panel as he heard the warning alarm. Their number three and number four engines had taken the brunt of the damage. Toby cursed.

"Number three and four are damaged! Possible damage to the flaps!" He said, letting himself get a little loud.

"Keep her in the turn, Ozark! Tell me if anything feels wonky!" Martin ordered.

"I'm not getting anything like that on my end, sir!" Toby reported.

The Longsword screeched over the city itself, two of its engines shut down to prevent further damage. Toby was practically crushing his yolk in his hands as they struggled to get things under control. Toby looked at the airspeed indicator as it seemed to be dropping. They were turning too tight for the number of engines still operational. The two pilots eased up the turn, but the speed was still going down, enough to seriously anger Toby. He hit the throttles to make sure they were all the way forward.

"Come on, yah big, gray bitch! Fly!" He snarled.

Finally the Longsword's speed stopped going down and it settled into normal flight, flak bursts still dotting the sky around it as it left the vicinity. The alarms calmed down with the three and four engines out of commission. The ECM seemed to be indicating that the Fatherland troops below had shot their load as far as missile were concerned. Toby sucked in a long breath of oxygen before he spoke.

"Everyone alive?!" He said, still a little heavy on the volume.

"I'm kicking! Looks like one of the flak bursts got the left-side countermeasures dispenser; expect there to be additional damage to that section." Burns piped up.

"Still okay!" Lewicki assured.

"What they said." Miller reported almost immediately after the Bombardier.

"Good, everyone's alive. Congrats boys, we just flew our first bombing run against Chanosant and lived." Martin observed. He looked at Toby.

"You all done good by my book." He said. Toby nodded and glanced down at the controls. 62 miles to the border, he thought.

 _"Yeah Spirit 1-1, you've got some hits there on the left. Looks like the engines are the worst damage. I think they're leaking fluid; might be smoke, though."_

"Spirit 1-2 it seems you've taken even more dings. Your tail section looks pretty chewed up."

Martin sighed and rubbed his forehead.

"Thanks Condor 1-3, 1-1. We'll try and make it to the border and go from there." He said.

 _"Roger, we'll stay with you until Heirlark or our fuel state gets too low."_ The fighter pilot said.

Toby looked up from the panels and lights again. They'd taken down all the problems and dealt with them the best they could. The rest would be handled by the mechanics back on the ground. How long until the Longsword was airworthy again was not his department; until then he'd fly in other squadron jets.

"Okay Ozark, nothing to worry about. The Eagles will escort us out and we'll just have to be careful on the landing." Martin said.

"Let's hope it's that way, sir." Toby replied as he kept his grip on the yolk.

The co-pilot wished he could get a proper look to the rear and see what they'd done. At the very least he could know before they got shot down, IF they got shot down. The fire from the ground was dying off as they disappeared from the sight of Chanosant defenders and once again awoke the countryside with their tumultuous roar. Things seemed to have settled down as they were well clear of the ground-based defences; they weren't any in this part of the country, apparently. No skin off his nose, he had enough problems at the moment.

"Will we need to divert if that bad weather is still over Bullock?" Toby asked his pilot.

"Probably; this plane would not fare very well trying to land on a slick runway in its current state. We'll check about 200 miles out." Martin assured.

The Longbow was now 32 miles from the border, but the fact that they were still inside Belk was enough to warrant attention. The Prowler watching the skies spoke up again.

 _"Spirit 1, Condor 1, this is Clairvoyant; we've got more bandits on radar. Looks like MiG-31s, again. Heading 080, 210 miles, Angels 21. We count four."_ Their friend aboard the Prowler piped up.

"Ah shit, now ain't the time!" Toby snarled.

"Stow it, Ozark! Condor?"

 _"We're on em, but we can't hold them for long! Burned enough gas as it is!"_

"Roger that, can you stay close to us until they get close?"

 _"Yeah, we can try."_

Toby looked at the RWR panel. The enemy radars were only present and aware of the two bombers. The Vultures were too far out to get missile off, but that would change soon. Mach 2.83, Toby reminded himself.

"Clairvoyant, how far are they now?" Martin asked.

 _"They're at 180 miles. Guys must be on afterburners or something."_ The controller updated.

"Roger that, Spirit 1-2, eject the rest of your payload and get low; we should be near the mountains soon enough. Try to keep Condor between you and the Seps." Martin replied.

 _"Spirit 1-2, roger that. We're counting on you, Condor."_ The other Longsword confirmed.

"Radar, Pilot, jettison the bombs on the wing pylons." Martin went on without skipping a beat.

"Roger that, sir." Lewicki agreed.

The crew barely felt anything as the rest of the M227s were left to fall to the earth. There was no worry about them being captured; the M227 was as old and as unsophisticated as bombs got. In fact Toby wished they could be armed to explode when some curious Separatists tried to tamper with them. That'd be a surprise, he grinned. The man looked down as the RWR continued to beep.

"Okay, they're going for lock." He reported.

"Chaff is going out from the right dispenser." Burns reported.

"We're nearing the mountains." Miller added.

Toby and Martin handled the Longsword with care. In its state, it could sustain even fewer Gs or violent maneuvers. They began taking her down after the bombs were clear, keeping the throttles in an acceptable state. The Vultures fanned out and turned to they were directly behind the formation of egressing O.A.G. starfighters. The range closed to near 100 miles, but came no closer. The RWR told the crew of Spirit 1-1 that they were being locked on to. The flow of things was pretty obvious from that point on.

"Missiles in the air, four of em!" Lewicki determined.

"How many are inbound for us?" The Colonel requested.

"Looks like we've got one aimed at us!" He reported.

"More Chaff, Lewicki!" Martin swiftly ordered.

Two of the Sabres, Condor 1-1 and 1-4, reported that they had been fired on, while Spirit 1-2 reported an heat seeker was after it. Spirit 1-1 kept up its descent, carefully jinking from side to side to spread the chaff. Toby felt a looming sense of fear as he listened in on the conversation between the escorts.

 _"Visual! Your six o' clock!"_

 _"Evade, Rhino, evade!"_

 _"I'm trying, I'm trying!"_

In the meantime Toby watched as the Amos inbound for them passed by and went off towards a cluster of chaff. He took in a quick breath before waiting for another missile to come. Mayday calls flooded in.

 _"This is Spirit 1-2, we've been hit! We're still up but badly damaged!"_ Their fellow Longsword called. The escort was faring worse.

 _"Lead is down! Condor 1-1 and 1-4 are down! I don't see any pod from 1-1!"_ one of the fighter pilots confirmed.

Two of the Sabres went down in flames as the others tried desperately to counter more heatseekers with what fuel they had. Toby cursed several people as things descended into a quagmire. The Second Lieutenant at least wanted the honour of dying with the enemy in his face. At least the chance to ram him if this was it! Martin, however, was still clinging to the chance for survival.

"Any station, this is Spirit 1-1! We are under attack by bandits near the Ivera mountains, near the border. Can anyone assist?" He called out again.

Even as they crossed the border, the Vultures would not relent. They had no reason to, Martin thought with a frown, there were free kills to be had. By now the Longsword was past the moon and close to hyperspace jump point. It bought them some breathing room for a minute. The Vultures crossed the border, now even closer, and went back to their shooting gallery. Martin repeated his call, and the radio came to life.

 _"Spirit 1-1, this is Buckshot 3 Actual. We are a Prowler with a battery of Patriot SAMs near your current position. We can assist, standby."_ A voice assured. Martin gulped, but nodded nonetheless.

"Roger that, be advised we're flying with another Longsword and two Sabres near us. Bandits are farther out." He added.

One of the Vultures had turned back towards them in a do or die attempt to score a kill, closing the rest of the distance even as somewhere below Patriot air defence batteries sent off their payloads into the blackness of space. No one saw the flashes, but the ECM changed to tell them that all but one of the Vultures had stopped actively targeting the starship. Spirit 1-1 dumped off more chaff and flares as their "admirer" began firing rounds from its cannons. The bolts passed by in a swarm before Toby heard thumps nearby. They quickly stopped as the Patriot battery called out its kills.

 _"Spirit, Buckshot, your flight is cleared west; we've got these sons of bitches."_ The Navy missile personnel radioed.

"Roger that Buckshot, we send our thanks." Martin replied.

 _"Spirit 1-1, this is Condor 1-2, we're returning to base. Good luck."_ One of the Sabre pilots announced.

"Okay Condor, we appreciate the help." Martin said.

"Thanks guys, we owe you all. Same to your pals in 1-1 and 1-4." Toby added.

The two Sabres went north to reach the Prowler again, while the two Longswords aimed themselves for the long trip back to Antar.


	3. Battle for Deyaron City

The First Contact War Short Stories

Chapter 3

Battle for Deyaron City

 _25030 Galactic Standard Calendar_ , _CT-67005 'Teal', 104_ _th_ _Battalion, Deyaron._

The clone column pushed up quickly to the shop that would be their base of operations. Time had become a bit scarce so they had no time to be cute with their movement. The defenders of Deyaron were getting into the red zone and needed to push the ball across the line.

While the clankers responded with some intermittent fire as the clones came into view of Laurel Canyon road, it proved to be more annoying then threatening. With clones providing cover, the machine guns and mortars got set up and ready to roll. The blocking force prepared to move as did the main assault force. Tension built like a coiled spring waiting to be unleashed. All knew that their hope for the recapture of the city, no, not just city, THEIR city, likely hinged on the next few minutes.

With a signal from Captain Harvel the fire support group opened up. Two whumps from the mortars led the way followed by the low guttural chatter of the DLT-19 heavy blaster rifles. To more whumps from the mortar tubes followed before the first two rounds exploded. Spotters recalibrated before they found their mark. Zeroed in, the deadly weapons rained destruction onto the enemy position.

Captain Harvel waited patiently for several minutes seeming to enjoy the chance for payback on the pinned-down clankers. The timing had to be perfect so the officer didn't allow any personal satisfaction to get in the way of the job at hand. Satisfied the time was right the Captain sent the blocking force sprinting across Osborne to their position. The clankers managed some sporadic and uncoordinated fire, seeming to be caught off guard by the voraciousness of the mortar and machine gun fire so all were able to get across and into position before any could be hit. Harvel waited several more minutes for attention to be diverted to that area then he sent the main force down the alley hidden from view and through a townhouse complex that provided cover from view. If everything came off right this was going to ruin some alien officer's whole day.

Teal and his team found themselves on the point of the assaulting force moving swiftly but carefully through the cover the trees afforded. Familiar ground to them, he thought. A few more seconds and they'd be to the road and it would be game on.

Heart pounding his breathing started to become laboured. He could feel blood trickling down his side from the wound Doc had quickly patched up. Or was it sweat? Likely both. Teal could hear the sound of battle to his right, the crump of the mortars, chatter of machine guns and the whiz of return fire. So far no one seemed to have noticed their movement so they'd have a bit of surprise. He hoped it would be more than a bit.

The foliage began to thin out as the clones moved steadily to the street to their front. Teal held up his hand in the signal to halt. He wanted to make sure everyone was up before they attacked. A quick shoulder check and he knew they were good to go. Taking one deep breathe, he closed his eyes to prep for what lay ahead.

It was time.

"Go! Go! Go!" he yelled, more from adrenaline then a need to give the command as the others sprung into action behind him.

Sprinting through the trees, over the sidewalk and onto Laurel Creek road the soldiers burst into the open. Four lanes wide suddenly seemed like an awfully long way.

The clones held their fire, focusing on moving as fast as they could. This was not like a movie where the good guys came out guns blazing. They waited for targets to identify themselves and concentrated on moving to the parking lot of the Target where there were speeders that could be used for cover.

They didn't have to wait long to find something to shoot back at.

Though initially surprised by the quick attack from an unexpected side the clankers responded to the new threat bringing machine gun and rocket fire to bear on the charging clones.

Combat had always been a strange combination of experiences for Teal. He, like the O.A.G. forces that he had worked with, called it his 'spidey-sense'. Everything seemed to go super fast and yet also moved super slow. Psychologists say that one's senses are heightened in times of high stress and our remarkably designed bodies respond in kind. So, while everything seemed to be going by in fast forward, like watching a holo on rapid advance, everything was crystal clear for Teal. He saw it all: the B1 that popped up in the parking lot to the right only to be shredded by a DLT-19, one on the roof to the front who was blown off like a stunt man by the exploding round of a mortar, all came in pure, high definition clarity.

Yet he couldn't hear anything. So much noise and confusion swirled around Teal yet he heard nothing as he sprinted across the road then into the parking lot. He didn't hear himself screaming manically in the face of the enemy return fire, he didn't hear the orders he automatically gave to those around him, he didn't hear the sound of his DC-15A firing steadily, he didn't hear the sound of brothers getting hit around him.

He was focused.

Next thing Teal knew, he stood under the overhang of the store near one of the entrances gasping for breath. He looked around and did a quick head count, pleased by the number of men who made it, including all of his.

Good, he thought, these guys were beginning to become pretty special to him. He noticed the mortars had shifted their fire from the Target to the strip mall across the street to eliminate the threat of friendly fire. It was now time for them to start to do their job.

A clone Lieutenant who'd come up with them now started getting the troops organized. Teal recognized him by markings of his helmet, quite uncharacteristic for a clone (at the time). Surfer he'd been called. But Teal also knew him to be a solid officer, a bit of an anomaly, even for the clones but the right guy for the job.

"Staff Sergeant, take four fire teams and clear the building. Secure any other entrances then report back to me,' Surfer ordered crisply. "The rest of you, cover the approach and hold this area. We're not letting these squid heads push us back. Move!"

"Lockett, point," Teal commanded in response. "They know we're here so use your comms to keep me posted. Let's move!"

The others followed naturally as the corporal pushed in through the doors, two other clones automatically holding them open for the others to surge in in force. Teal deployed the fire teams as they spread out through the dark building. Helmet mounted flashlights played up and down deserted aisles as the soldiers charged through the store that only days earlier would have been filled with eager shoppers looking for the latest bargain. No more, not only had the city changed but the whole world had changed since then.

 _"Movement, east wall,"_ a voice crackled through the comm link.

"Light him up!"

The thump of a grenade broke the silence followed by an explosion and a shower of kids tricycles from the bike section a pair of droids had been hiding in.

"Contact! Contact!" others called out frantically as the invaders made their stand.

Suddenly the dark store was lit up by sizzling blaster fire. Teal had placed the men well so with interlocking fields of fire they were able to systematically push all the remaining droids into a killing zone in the centre of the store.

Hawk, was firing systematic bursts from his DLT-19 burst out laughing despite the frenzy of combat. A B1, desperate to escape, had floundered through the lingerie section and had a purple lace bra stuck to its head that would have looked better on its intended user. The moment of mirth lasted but a moment as the droid was shredded by the fire of several clones.

It had been a sharp firefight but ended up lasting less than five minutes before the calls starting coming in:

"East sector secure."

"South secure."

"West entrance secure."

But then followed the sound every combat leader hated to hear:

"Medic!"

The building was secure and fortunately the cost had been relatively light. Five men wounded, two seriously, but fortunately none killed. Maybe the tide had begun to turn.

Teal deployed the bulk of his fire teams to secure the entrances to the building before taking his own team and trotting back to the Lieutenant.

"Good to go sir," Teal reported.

Surfer nodded but didn't say anything to him, preparing for the next phase of action. "All right, assaulting force, let's take this street," he yelled to the force ready to move.

Leaving Teal and his squad behind the officer charged off with a heavy platoon he'd chosen to take the last position. On cue the mortars stopped their fire as the clones hit Osborne. The DLT-19 provided covering fire but it wasn't enough. With the mortars stopping the clankers, who had wisely gone to ground, reappeared and blasted the approach to their position. A wall of fire greeted the clones forcing them back to the cover of the department store.

The droids tried themselves to push across to retake their lost position but were met with stiff resistance from the hasty defence set up around the store so they couldn't move either.

It had become a stalemate.

Neither side seemed content to simply trade fire across the boulevard though time worked against the clones. Both sides probed, looking for a weakness to exploit but neither gave any ground.

The officer in charge of the attack called for his radioman in an attempt to bring some much-needed support. "Echo 1-7 this is Echo 2-7. We're stuck here. We need fire support. Anything in the air? Over."

 _"Negative on the air support 2-7,"_ Captain Harvel responded on the other end. _"But hold your position, I'm sending some reinforcements and something I think will help unstick things."_

The lieutenant organized his men for a renewed assault, curious to see what his superior could send that would help tip the balance. Then a smile lit up his tanned face as he saw not only another two sections of infantry move up but also a rocket launcher team.

Yes, this would unstick things nicely.

Directing rocket fire towards CIS strong points, the clones were able to soften resistance. With a charge worthy of any echelon in the soon to be storied history of the clone legions, with one more push they successfully dislodged the droids from the strip mall. With the droid's last defensive position breached they fell back with the clones pressing them all the way past their objective in order to have enough ground to set up a cordon to ensure the precious reinforcements they were waiting for would be unimpeded.

The ramp had been secured as was the underpass and area on the opposite side of the freeway. droid resistance seemed to evaporate. It became suddenly quiet again.

Despite the exertion in the humid afternoon no one rested. Fire teams began to set up a defensive position finding whatever cover they could to protect the off ramp and surrounding area. The cost had been high in killed and wounded but everyone knew the importance of this mission, plus, it had been a clear victory for the Republic forces, something they desperately needed. The wounded were being carried back to the spaceport for evacuation and a few more reinforcements had arrived but that had slowed. Doc re-joined the section since the casualty collection point had been closed. All that seemed left to do was to wait for the arrival of the walkers.

"Not much longer now," Captain Harvel encouraged the men as he went around checking their progress, ensuring all of the arcs were covered. "We're going to hold this position and the rocket launcher will hold the center."

Boom!

The clone with the rocket launcher and his loader suddenly evaporated in a ball of flame.

"Spider!" a nearby brother screamed, warning too late of the arrival of the lethal weapon. Letting loose a salvo of powerful blaster bolts at close range it eliminated in one shot the biggest threat the clones could muster.

The droids counter-attacked in force.

The newly arrived Spider droid began to systematically focus on the key points of resistance and just as systematically eliminated them. Other B1 droids poured into the area, cutting down any clone that tried to move out of the cone of fire of the deadly support weapon. Withering fire caused the defenders to wilt initially but they wouldn't break, not this close to accomplishing their mission.

A large squad of Super Battle droids cut across Laurel Canyon road, effectively cutting the clones holding the off-ramp from the reinforcements coming from the spaceport. It was as if they knew what travelled down the highway also so wanted to deny the Republic forces the hope that had been growing.

Hawk returned fire with his DLT-19, checking the progress of those who would try to take the ramp. Ram added what firepower he could with his grenade launcher but it was small compensation for the rockets. Teal moved from position to position, redirecting fire and shifting men about to keep them from harm's way. All the while rounds hissed and pinged all around him. He was singularly focused on holding the position. The reminder of Hector and the others when he'd passed Rincon Avenue drove him despite the searing pain from his wound and growing light headedness.

 _Not now, not again,_ he kept telling himself. The mantra went through his head again and again. He wouldn't fail those who'd put their trust in him another time. _Not this time._

The clones were being pressed hard. It was only a matter of time before their line broke. But not one of them wavered. None thought of breaking and running. They were here to the end. Several glanced at their brothers, gave winks and wry smiles under their helmets, knowing what the next few minutes held. No, none broke. The clones always faithful. They would hold to the end, taking as many with them as possible, hoping they would be remembered for their sacrifice.

Then, just as suddenly as the rocket launcher team had been blown up, the walking gun erupted in a ball of fire.

Simultaneously the sound of a 25mm chain gun opening up and the roar of a trio of Superhornet attack VTOLs filled the air. All eyes turned to the source of the intrusion. Coming down the Golden State Freeway, escorted by a flight of gunships flying cover, was a half-dozen Trojans leading the way for a convoy of walkers. It was a sight for sore eyes.

The column's escort joined the fight. Their considerable firepower overwhelmed the droids in a matter of minutes. Momentum broken and main support weapon destroyed, the clanker remnants retreated in disarray.

"The cavalry's here!" Harris whooped, screaming with joy.

"We did it, we actually did it," Ram shouted, wiping sweat from his eyes and pounding Harris on the shoulders.

As if a burden had been lifted from him, knowing the mission had been accomplished, Teal did a half turn, as if to leave the position, took one step and collapsed to the pavement.

The others in his section saw this and rushed to his side, ignoring the cheering marines around them.

"Doc!" Lockett screamed, "Get over here. Staff Sergeant's down!"

"Hang on Staffs," Harris begged him, "the funs about to begin."

"Walkers are here, mission accomplished," Teal grunted in his gravelly voice, "good job 2-5. Retreat…" his voice trailed off as everything went dark.


	4. 1st Patrol

The First Contact War Short Stories

Chapter 3

1st Patrol

 _"These Americans are not like the one s before. They stay and fight. Where ever they go they create death; they are death walkers." Captured Taliban prisoner 2002._

 _2622 March 30th_ , _Craig Reeves, 101_ _st_ _airborne, Mandalor.e_

It's been five days since they'd left the base. Five days searching for an invisible enemy. One that you can't see, can't hear and sure as hell can't predict. But you could feel their eyes constantly staring at the helmet you were wearing, waiting to put a bolt in between your eyes. Craig sat on a rock in the middle of Konar near Mandalore's Eastern desert. Mountains rose behind him and the sun glittering through the cracks of the ice-capped peaks. Fogs of heat escaped his mouth with every breath he took, but it wasn't that cold. He'd had worse in Arctic warfare training. he heard someone sneeze from behind him. The new recruits fresh out of boot camp was under his command, Lieutenant Able had sent them out in search of a fleeing Death Watch guerrilla force, they'd been chasing ghosts ever since and it had become nothing more than a glorified 1st patrol. From inside a heavy jacket covered by a tactical vest, he pulled out a letter and a picture. It was from his ex-wife. One six-year-old boy and a four year old girl sat in a couch with the woman he married four years ago. They smiled holding up the Christmas presents he had sent them from a shithole in the outer colonies before they were redeployed to Mandalore. The O.A.G. was stepping up its military participation in the war. He had survived the insurrection. His buddy from boot camp, Private John Ink hadn't. He died from stepping on a mine while the young squad fooled around just outside the base. His parents received his paycheck and a letter saying their son died in glorious battle. Lies.

"Sarge, when are we going to get back to FOB Utah? We're getting low on rations," Lance Corporal Jimmy Wilkins, he was a natural born leader, the smart one of the group.

"When we find the ragheads or die trying," Craig whispered, he was also my second in command.

Carig looked back to see fifteen soldiers no older than twenty huddling around in sleeping bags, trying to gain warmth. The sight brought back memories of countless tours of duty. The last one was suppose to be the final deployment, the doctors were afraid that he would have a Traumatic Brain Injury. That is, until the squad leader responsible for training the recruits were killed from a roadside bomb. Just before he left, there was a letter on the kitchen table from his wife. The last words were, _'I'm taking the kids to their grandmother's.'_ She took everything. His money, his kids, even the house that he used to live in. He had to build everything from scratch. He sighed, slipping the picture and letter back into his vest. Why he didn't burn it, he don't know. Maybe it was the kids, maybe it was the only thing keeping him connected to home while he was on this alien world. He grabbed his AC160, propped up against a nearby tree and stood up to shake off the frost that had coated his clothes since the past night. Layers of crystallized water cracked and fell onto the ice-covered ground like leaves in a fall wind. Craig walked over to Corporal Wilkins and told him to wake up the green soldier3s.

"Hey, 3/6 Charlie it's time to move. Up and at it, let's go!" Lance Corporal Wilkins slapped each of the fifteen paratroopers on the head to give them a head start.

"Is it morning already Jim? Fucking hell, give me five minutes," Private Joshua Townsend, the trouble maker of the group and former American football star from high school.

"We're moving out Townsend. Get up before the deathheads but a mortar round in your mouth," Corporal Wilkins moved to his ILBE (Improved Load Bearing Equipment) pack and started to fold his sleeping bag and mattress.

"Sarge, we just slept three hours. Can't we just move out at high noon?" Private First Class Jake Simmons, Fireteam Bravo's Automatic Rifleman, he was solidly built and could dish out punishment like a tank.

"Well do we want to vote on it?" Craig asked turning around, his bag already packed and ready for travel.

"Yes Sarge," they murmured and slowly crawled out of their warm bags to meet the shivering cold breeze.

"Well I have bad fucking news. This isn't a democracy you little shits, what comes down from the top you execute. I have a job to get you into a firefight with a hiding enemy and come back in one piece and that's exactly what the LT expects me to do. Now get your ILBE loaded and on your backs in five mikes or they'll be high hell to pay back at the FOB." Craig shrugged on his pack, double-checked his rifle and made sure a round was inside the chamber.

"Yes Sergeant," they grumbled back and pulled on their desert MARPAT jackets.

It took the entire squad thirty minutes to become fully awake and finish packing up their gear. When they moved out, the sun had come out of the mountains and was sitting on the peaks. Ice started to melt into water, the liquid streaming down from the ice caps high above them. It amazed him that the guerrilla fighters didn't take this advantage to attack them. Rocks, gravel, and bits of dead vegetation crunched under his boots as they walked across the ridge and deeper into enemy territory. Over the mountains to their right stood desert, flat plains lush with shade from the sun. It was cold now but soon it was about to become boiling hot. Sweat dripped down his face and into his jacket, adding to the grime that was already thick on his skin. Throughout the entire march, the paratroopers kept complaining about each and everything. _Why we were walking on the mountains, why they had to go into the Airborne and not college, why Mandalore?_ Craig was walking behind two Paratroopers in a single file line. Lance Corporal Jack Davis, Fireteam Alpha's leader, he was a reliable man and cool under fire. Behind him was the radioman, Private First Class Lucas Hayes, part of Fireteam Bravo. He was caring but quaked under fire and was a known coward. _Maybe that's why he's radio operator_. Craig heard a crackle in the distance. Everyone kept moving except him. Dust kicked up just next to Hayes.

"Contact, contact!" Hayes screamed, and the entire squad went prone.

"Where the fuck are they firing from?" Craig's heart raced as his eyes darted around the entire mountain.

"Sergeant, the mountain just off to our right. I saw muzzle flash from inside one of those caves," Wilkins quickly reported, as dust kicked up just down the slope. Too close.

"Alright, fuck," Craig grumbled looking behind him to see an outcropping of rocks protruding from the mountain.

"Hey Charlie, get your ass up there and give us some suppressive fire!" He yelled seeing the young paratroopers still frozen by the sudden ambush.

"Charlie!" Craig screamed, only their squad leader got up.

"Get your asses up there right now," Corporal Nicholas Taylor bellowed at his subordinates and grabbed them by their packs.

"Yes Sarge," they yelled, suddenly realizing their orders.

"Bravo, give me precision strikes on those mother fuckers!" Craig tapped Hayes on the back and ran behind Bravo towards a small dip in the mountain, wither natural or artificial he didn't care.

"On it, Sergeant," Corporal Sam Griffin, an expert marksman replied.

Craig slammed my shoulder against the rock and turned the already-scared-shitless Hayes around. He pulled out the radiophone and listened for incoming traffic. The loud thrumming of the machine gun was distinct against the sporadic fire of the rifles. Townsend was up on the M27 Infantry Automatic Rifle, his finger jammed on the trigger. The fifty round magazine ripped through like fire and before you knew it, he was swapping out mags. Griffin fired once every fifteen seconds or so and paused to watch his rounds arc down towards the cave several hundred meters below. Alpha was right next to Bravo and wisely fired a couple of bursts into the caves to match or surpass the level of violence. Just then, a flash of light lit up the mountainside. One bang echoed through the mountains. One loud fucking bang. An RPG had been fired on them from one of the caves.

"Bulldog Actual this is Bulldog One One, we are at..." Craig paused and pulled out a portable GPS device.

"Grid 835 968, we have contact with fleeing guerrilla forces, over," Craig paused once again waiting for the reply.

"I've got a fucking jam!" Townsend's IAR was glowing a dull red with smoke rising from the barrel.

"Then fucking fix it and get some lead on those fuckers!" A round ricocheted off the rock in front of him, the zing fading right after the hit.

 _"Roger that Bulldog One One, what do you need, over,"_ The reply finally came as another loud bang shook the Earth next to them.

"Fucking hell!" Hayes screamed, Craig's hand gripping his pack kept him from moving.

"Taking fire! Light Weapons! Rocket Propelled Grenades! Requesting Air Support! Wait. Out," Craig yelled into the radio phone.

"Sergeant!" Townsend screamed just as an RPG streaked past the rock formation his was hiding behind.

 _"Bulldog One One, we have four Zeros in the skies. Callsign Dragon Five, expect them inbound in fifteen mikes,"_ The radio crackled, Townsend was firing back at the caves with frantic ferocity.

"Fifteen fucking minutes? We can't survive that long with RPGs firing at us!" Craig yelled back into the radio.

 _"It's the best we got Bulldog One One. Take it or leave it,"_ the harrowing noise of whistles echoed throughout the mountain, Craig looked over to Bravo and then back to the little dip.

"Hayes, get the fuck out of here," Craig ordered but he didn't budge.

"Hayes, get the fuck out!" Craig screamed and kicked him out from the cover we hid behind.

"But Sergeant, the enemy -" Hayes sputtered.

Craig saw him trip on a rock. Grabbing the back of his ILBE, he dragged him away from the cover and slowly ran towards Bravo. The entire Fireteam stopped and stared at the both of them. His left arm burned with lactic acid, his legs crying for oxygen. The edges of his vision started to darken and all he heard was his breathing. He heard a giant bang. The air rippled with heat. He felt something cut into my neck, arms, and legs. Warmth dripped down the cuts and into my clothes. He reached Bravo and dumped the radioman in front of them.

"Sergeant, you're hit." Private Hogan Gerald said from his entrenched position.

"No shit." Craig looked at his arms to see blood seeping out from the small red, exposed cuts.

"You should get it bandaged." Griffin suggested as Craig ignored him and crouched down.

"Sergeant, we're getting pounded! We need to get the fuck out of here!" Private Clark Johnson screamed from behind Townsend, he was Charlie's Assistant Machine gunner.

"Just simmer down, air support is on the way!" Craig screamed and slowly crouch to the right, a blaster bolt zipping right next to his ear.

The shot had already rocketed past his ear. Craig grumbled and lifted up his rifle until the sights cut into his eye line. Firing a few rounds into the cave, he continued to look out for small black specks in the sky. The whistling came again. This time he could feel the whistling shaking the ground through his boots. Left of him, Private Haye's eyes widened. His panicking and fear started to consume him. He started shaking horribly. He fell backwards and started to back away into a nearby crater.

"Hayes, get the fuck back here!" Craig yelled, he didn't respond.

"Hayes," Craig barked.

Craig got up to follow him, his gear weighing him down. Hayes pushed himself off the ground and started running towards the dip. The training drilled into his muscles overriding fear and even common sense. Adrenaline coursed through Craig's veins and placed him in a high even that drugs couldn't match. He was addicted to combat. Hayes was far faster than Craig was. He ran towards the ditch. The ground shook with the crater exploding into a cloud of dust. Craig felt heat tingling my his and liquid dripping down from his cheek. His entire body was numb, but he was focused on Hayes. The brown fog stung his eyes and itched his throat. Fuck, this was annoying. He heard a groan. Slowly the dust dissipated to reveal a mangled body covered with dirt and blood.

"Shit," Craig grumbled taking off his helmet and placing it next to the body.

"Medic!" Craig screamed shrugging off his ILBE.

"Yes, Sarge?" Lance Corporal Hughes Douglas, the team's medic and assistant machine gunner from Bravo asked as he groped around for Craig's blowout kit.

"Oh shit, Hayes!" He crouched down and pulled out his own kit, "Come on buddy, stay with me."

Hayes was groaning as blood leaked from the corners of his mouth.

"Put pressure on his wound!" Craig screamed seeing a giant cut on one of his thighs.

"The mortars sliced into one of the major arteries Sergeant! If we don't clamp it, he's going to die," Hughes quickly explained as he pulled out a clamp.

"Hey, Campbell!" Craig yelled waving at the Alpha's Automatic Machine gunner.

"Yes Sarge?" He asked and fired another round into the caves.

"Come and give some help to Hughes," Craig ordered grabbing his weapons from his hands.

"Roger that, here's some extra clips," Campbell tossed Craig a bag full of ammunition.

"Come on man, stay with us," Campbell whispered.

Craig growled, angry and frustrated at both the enemies and the rookies. This was the second man he lost on the tour. The first one was sent back home in a coffin from an accident at the firing range. He forgot to put on his helmet and was practicing alone. An unlucky ricochet off a loose steel plate and straight into his brain. He was dead before he knew it. Screeching filled the air as four black specks darted through the blue skies. The Zeros had arrived. Craig slowly inched away from the squad's formation and made his way to Hayes.

"Lift him up," He ordered.

"But Sarge, he's -" Hughes sputtered with blood all over his hands.

"Now damn it!" He had no time for bullshit.

Hughes and Campbell looked at him with anger. They both gripped Hayes and pushed him upright. Hayes groaned with anguish and pain. Craig grabbed his radio pack and tried to pull the straps out from his armour. He screamed, blood pouring out from his wounds. Craig pulled out his combat knife and cautiously cut the straps loose. His screaming stopped, Craig nodded to the two paratroopers and held the radiophone up to his ear. The blood slick on the radiophone assaulted his senses.

 _"Bulldog One One, Bulldog One One, this is Dragon Five, respond over,"_ The radio crackled as the Zeros darted over the mountains once again.

"Dragon Five, this is Bulldog One One, we are under heavy enemy mortar fire. We have a man down," Craig screamed into the radio.

 _"Roger that Bulldog One One, we are over the mountain range but you have to mark yourself. We wouldn't want a blue on blue now would we?"_ The pilots asked, as Craig groped around for a smoke grenade in my backpack.

"Dragon Five, I am popping orange smoke just a few meters from our position. The enemy is to..." Craig paused and looked at my GPS once again.

"…our East, give'em hell!" Craig lofted a smoke grenade down the mountains and looked up to see the Zeros banking back towards us.

 _"Roger that Bulldog One One, Dragon Five going hot. Attacking from South to North with two cluster bombs,"_ Craig watched Hayes's chest moving up and down with his mouth gargling blood.

 _"Bulldog One One, report,"_ the radio squawked in his ear.

"Bulldog One One has suffered casualties, one Marine, Private First Class Lucas Hayes. Requesting MEDEVAC and a transport VTOL to grid 835 968. T2 Casualty," Craig whispered into the radio with the distinct pops coming from mortars hidden behind or inside the caves.

 _"Roger that Bulldog One One..."_

Everything was dead quiet.

The enemy had stopped firing.

 _"Bring them home. Alive,"_ the Zeros swooped in low over the mountain caps and deployed their ammunition.

"Yes sir," the CBU-97 cluster bombs dropped in pairs.

One quick bang sounded, the outer skin being blasted off. Small little objects, which looked like canned foods, dropped from the bomb. Then, the entire mountainside exploded into a cloud of dust. The small little cans fired out penetrators into the ground. Craig let out a sigh of relief seeing that no more mortar pops or enemy fire was coming from the caves. With the Zeros flying overhead, no enemy dared to face them. He dropped the radio pack and moved over to Hayes who locked eyes with him. His green cloudy eyes clung on to life. Craig knew that he was fighting it, even though he was a Quaker in battle. He gave a slow nod to him. He just blinked once, slowly. The rest of the squad slowly moved back to gave their comrade some moral support. They all clasped his hands, those others patting his head.

"You'll make it," they whispered.

"Form a perimeter. I don't want any deathheads coming within a mile near us," the men nodded and touched their friend on the head. Hayes tried to give them a reassuring smile.

 _"Bulldog One One, what's the status of the mission,"_ Craig looked over to the mountainside the bombs just dropped.

"Dead sir, but unconfirmed," the Zeros rolled in again, two teardrops dropping from their frames.

 _"Roger that, good enough,"_ two clouds of black smoke rose from the caves.

Shortly after, two bangs exploded and the shockwave jolted me backwards. That was the end of it. Craig gripped my rifle and waited for the VTOL. He became tired, numb and above all, my awareness was slipping away. The adrenaline was wearing off. Hughes had already stripped off Hayes's uniform to reveal his torso. It looked like minced meat, blood had covered the skin with slick red grime, while his cuts had exposed strings of muscle and moved with each of his breath. Hughes pulled out a white packet, ripping it in half and pouring it all over Hayes's wounds. The white powder made him hiss and gargle his blood.

"Sergeant, can you unfold the stretcher?" Craig gestured for three others to help him unfold it.

"Hayes, we're going to move you now. It'll hurt but just for a few minutes okay?" Hayes nodded slowly, his eyes fluttering.

"Fuck, he's slipping," Hughes wrote 'T2' with Hayes's blood on his cheek to denote the severity of the casualty.

"Bulldog One One, Bulldog Actual, where the fuck is that MEDEVAC?" Another bang was heard, and my left arm went numb.

 _"Five minutes,"_ The reply came as he looked down at my left arm.

There was a sizeable cut on his bicep. Blood streamed down the grime riddled uniform and the red of the muscle gleamed in the sun. Craig grumbled, pulling out a roll of gauze while Hughes and Campbell attended to Hayes. He wrapped my arm around in gauze and forgot about it, Hayes was more important. A few minutes passed and there was no VTOL. The men were starting to get restless with a blanket of silence falling over the valley after the fighters dropped their bombs. Craig looked around to find the VTOLs a place to land, the area was sloped and was not enough to support a twelve-ton twin rotor Warbird. The peak might and it wasn't far either.

"Charlie, get up on the slope and give me a place for the bird to land," Corporal Taylor nodded and signalled his men towards the top.

"Hey Sergeant," Griffin slowly grovelled towards me.

"Yeah?" Craig whispered, looking at the mountains.

"I'm seeing some weird movements over the slope of the mountains," he had a death grip on his rifle's foregrip.

"You sure it's not just fatigue?" Craig asked, scanning the steep slope riddled with rocks.

"No it's not fatigue, I'm sure I saw armour with a back end of an RPG," Craig nodded and waited for Charlie to report.

"Okay, form a perimeter along that slope and tell me what you see. We'll keep contact by radio," still nothing from Charlie.

"Roger that. Bravo, let's move," the four men cautiously advanced on the slope with their rifles raised.

"Hey Sarge," one faint voice echoed down the ridge, Craig looked up to see Townsend on top of the peak waving both of his arms.

"The LZ's perfect!" he yelled as Craig was about to scream back.

"Contact!" Griffin reported, his squad's rifle exploding into volleys of crackles.

"Man down, man down," The radio crackled.

Craig looked back to see Townsend crumpling into the mountain, his black silhouette disappearing. Griffin was heavily engaged with the Death Watch just right of him. Hayes needed to get up that hill and be grouped with Townsend. The sporadic cracks from the enemy's weapons signalled that they were close. Quickly he ran over to Hughes who was trying to keep Hayes alive. Alpha had their weapons pointed towards Bravo to provide suppressive fire. Craig looked left to see one shape in the distance. His beard crusted with dust, hair dirtied by long days living with the ground and rusting RPG probably given to him by the CIS. Craig's arms instinctively raised the rifle until the optics had lined up the single red dot against the tan of his head. He squeezed the trigger. Crack. His head knocked back, the man falling forwards into the ground. The RPG in his hands detonating on impact probably from the twitch after his brain had severed connection with the muscles.

 _"Sergeant, the bird's here!"_ The radio crackled again.

"Alpha, get Hayes up to the peak," Craig ordered running forward and towards Bravo.

"My weapon fucking jammed!" one of the Paratroopers from Bravo screamed.

"Fucking fix it!" Craig yelled back, seeing two of Alpha's boys helping Hughes and Campbell in lifting the stretcher.

The VTOLs buzzed by their heads, one Superhornet attack VTOL leading two Warbirds. Two heads popped up from over the slope, their eyes locked onto Fireteam Bravo. Bravo answered back with a burst of fire to keep them at bay. Alpha was halfway up the slope with their rifleman giving the evacuating men suppressive fire. Another one popped up with an RPG slung on his shoulder, his white armour and brown cloak worn over them fluttering in the wind. Craig lifted his rifle and fired. Crack, crack, crack. Three times he pulled the trigger. The first shot missed, the second kicked up dust right in front of him while the third entered his stomach. He dropped his RPG and fell forwards, disappearing from the slope. The VTOLs were banking away from them, their engines chopping the air with a constant rhythm.

"Charlie, pop smoke," Craig ordered into the radio and tapped Griffin's shoulder.

 _"Leapfrog towards the exfil point. I'll cover you,"_ Griffin nodded and with three of his men ran behind him.

Craig lifted his rifle and fired a long sustained burst into the ridge with one of his men, Private Hau Do. He was from a long line of Vietnamese soldiers who served in the U.E.G. Military. His baby face often fooled other people from his hardened and often explosive personality. Craig's rifle clicked empty, smoke rising from the dull red barrel. He slapped in a fresh clip and paused to scan the slope. He waved Do towards the ridge and waited for his signal.

"Bounding!" he screamed, the words reflexively coming out from training.

"Covering," Craig replied and crouched down to maintain a good firing posture.

"Clear. Covering," Craig stood up to see the three men once again about to attack.

"Contact!" Do fired off three rounds.

"Fuck, jammed again," he grumbled with clear frustration.

Craig slowly walked back towards him firing in single shots to conserve my ammo. Sporadic fire towards the peak told him that the other half of Bravo had them covered. Running up the slope, he picked up the radio pack on the way. The thing weighed like a sack of bricks. Thumping from the VTOLs engines signalled that extraction was near. He could feel liquid dripping down his left arm. He payed no attention to it and continued his climb. Gun fire stopped, Bravo was reloading. Do was busy trying to get the offending round out of the rifle's firing chamber.

"Do, get up that ridge with Bravo. I've got this," Craig fired another round into the slope to keep the enemy at bay.

"But Sarge," Do started, still fiddling around with his rifle.

"No buts soldier. Get your ass up there," the VTOLs hovered over the mountain peak, the Warbirds ramp lowered and locked into place.

The four Paratroopers hiked it up the mountain while Craig fired the occasional round into the mountain side. He looked down at his vest to see three empty magazines and one, final clip partially empty. Craig's vision blurred as my head became light headed. Dizzy and off the edge, he kept watch while Bravo arrived at the mountaintop. Glancing back, he saw Griffin wave for Craig to follow him. Dirt splattered at his face. The enemy dared to take out the lone paratrooper with an orbiting Superhornet VTOL overhead. Craig stood up and fired a quick burst into the enemy before quickly running up the mountainside to repeat the process. Thump, thump, thump. Craig looked up to see the ugly attack VTOL orbiting far above the mountains. Three yellow molten slugs flying from the underside of the beast and arcing down towards the slope. The mountain shook beneath his feet as the rounds slammed into the ground, kicking up dirt and rocks high into the sky. Craig tucked his head into the body armour, feeling the pebbles raining on his helmet.

"Sergeant!" a voice yelled from behind me, it was Lance Corporal Wilkins.

Craig ran up with mountains with Campbell's M27 IAR and a radio pack. The equipment started to weigh Craig down and the mountain was steeper than it actually was. The peak was just a few meters away. Through gritting teeth, Craig heaved myself up the mountain and finally pulled himself onto the semi-flat peak. The rocky and uneven summit was engulfed in a torrent of dirt and soil from the engines of the Warbirds kicking up a gigantic hurricane of dust. He pulled out his goggles to protect his eyes from the offending wind. His squad stood next to the Warbird with medical teams quickly fixing up the messy job Hughes had done to save Hayes's life. Lumbering towards the now squad of thirteen, Wilkins walked out to greet me. The gale ate at his clothes and tried to swat the two of them off the mountain.

"How's the wounded?" Craig asked, giving the automatic rifle back to Campbell.

"Townsend had a minor flesh wound, a clean shot through the shoulder. Hayes..." Wilkins looked over my shoulder.

"Severe blood loss, burns from the detonation of the mortar, trauma, you name it, he has it," Wilkins yelled, a female flight nurse walking over to him.

"Where's your CO? I'm here to give him the dog tags before we fly back out to Camp Bastion!" the Irish flight nurse reported as Craig turned to her.

"That's me," Craig stated plainly, her eyes drifting down to the blood-soaked gauze bandaging on my arm.

"You're bleeding."

Craig scoffed and ignored the comment.

"It's just a flesh wound, far from the heart," Craig grumbled and gestured for Wilkins to board the Warbird.

"It's not just a flesh wound Sergeant. The risks of infection and secondary bruising from the dirt is high, we need to treat it now before it's too late." Craig felt like a child being scolded by his mother.

"I'll take care of the squad Staff Sergeant, you go on with Hayes and Townsend!" Wilkins yelled from the Warbird.

Looking down at his wound and then back at the flight nurse. She was not going to let him go. Craig grumbled and nodded. He gave a thumbs-up to the Warbird pilot. The utility VTOL ascended straight into the sky before pitch forward and disappearing below the mountain peak. All that was left was the numb feeling of his arm and the stinging sensation of the wind. Balancing over the edge of the summit was the other Warbird. It's two rear wheels gripping the ground while the forward portion of the VTOL hung in mid-air, a pinnacle landing. The pilots must be pissed at the both of them for taking so long. They ran in at an angle from the VTOL to prevent themselves from being cooked by the twin engines of the VTOL. Craig stepped on the VTOL's ramp with the rear gunner waiting at an instrument panel bolted onto the side of the VTOL's inside. One last look before he flew himself off this forsaken land, this mountain range sheltering the cowardly bastards that injured his men. It was his fault for training them so. With one last whiff of the moist and warming air, he stepped over the ramp and into the cargo hold full of medics rushing around Hayes's body. The rear gunner smacked the VTOL's frame before raising the ramp. Brown dirt faded into blue sky as the ramp locked into a raised position, with just enough room for them to see into the terrain below. Craig grabbed a seat next to Townsend. The normally cheery and energetic Paratrooper now silent, he looked like an empty shell with the shocking moments of the shot penetrating through his shoulders replaying in his head with an infinite loop. The Irish flight nurse inched towards Craig and pulled out her medic kit, her blue medical gloves stained with Hayes's blood. Craig grabbed her tactical vest and yanked her face close to mine. She yelped with surprise as rumbling shook the Chinook.

"Him first, me second," Craig demanded, his instincts and responsibility as squad leader overriding all other judgments in my head.

"He's taken care of, you aren't," she bravely retorted and smacked my hand away.

"Olivia, Op Vampire!" one of the flight surgeons yelled from the front of the VTOL.

"Kyle, Op Vampire!" she conveyed the message to the rear gunner.

"Bravo Zero Nine, Op Vampire, repeat, Bravo Zero Nine, Op Vampire," Op Vampire, calling all volunteers to donate blood to the incoming patient.

Craig sighed looking at Hayes as the flight nurse ripped my bandage open. Sharp pain shot through my arm. Craig looked back down to see her dousing my wound in alcohol before pulling out a sewing kit. Metal wires and a needle. Immobilizing pain shot through my spine, my jaw clenched to control the pain. This was just one of many injuries he received on the battlefield. A stray strand of hair fell across her blue eyes. She quickly tucked the lock behind her ear and continued to work on my wound, the blonde hair now stained with red.

Craig reached inside my tactical vest and pulled out the photograph. He turned it over to read to words written on it, _'Come back soon dad, we miss you! Jake and Holly. 5/23/2218'_ Only two weeks were left before 3/6 Charlie and he would leave this place. On your first tour you came to understand why so many people despise it. It took everything away from you. Your friends, your squad mates, and the most important thing of all, your sanity. Craig just hoped that 3/6 had enough training to survive, even if it was just two weeks. He had to bring the home. Alive.


	5. Birds Of War

The First Contact War Short Stories

Chapter 5

Birds Of War

 _2624 May 17th Earth Standard Calendar, LT Hitomi 'Dusk' Zhang_ _, Toki-rin, Operation Swift Strike II_

The attack was already underway when the 121st "Basilisks" Naval Attack Squadron came screaming out of the east.

The 1291st "Hydras" NAS, their rivals from the carrier Benton, had just swooped into their strafing runs. White and grey smoke poured from the tiny dimples of anti-aircraft gun emplacements; bigger clouds puffed into being in mid-air, as if placed there by magic. Little silver model Sabres, riding faint contrails, were diving toward the guns. The puffs seemed to be playing with them, straddling them. It all seemed in good sport.

Then one appeared right next to the starfighter. The starfighter shuddered on its course, as if someone were shaking a model from the strings from which it was suspended. Two more puffs straddled it closely. Flame flickered from the starfighter, followed by a trail of black smoke.

Lt. 'Dusk' Zhang took in a breath sharply as the sight. _Abort your run, abort!_ she cried out inside her mind, knowing how futile it would be even if she was on the frequency of the 1291sh. The Sabre had been hit at least three times, shrapnel would have torn through the fuselage, fuel tanks, maybe engine. Possibly – the thought bothered her – right through the cockpit. The pilot might already be dead or dying.

The plane continued on, as if that pilot was committed to his course. But no bomb detached, no rockets fired, there was no sign of cannons. Only the streak of smoke that continued going down as its flight-mates pulled up to avoid colliding into the hill ahead. Hitomi had not seen the other Sabres fire, but balls of smoke roiled from the vicinity of a gun emplacement as the fighters clawed for altitude.

The stricken plane streaked on in its straight course. _Pull up!_ Hitomi mentally urged, but the Sabre did not deviate until its right wing, then its left suddenly separated, and the burning ballistic projectile that Hitomi hoped now had no live person aboard ended its trajectory to fireball against a small stand of trees on the hill. A moment later bigger explosions blew the stand to matchwood as the Sabre's ordnance went off. If there had been life in that cockpit before, it was definitely no more.

Hitomi winced. _That could have been me_ , came the unworthy thought. Then she snapped her own mind to attention. _That will be me, if I keep fixating_ , she reminded herself. Her jaw firmed, teeth unconsciously baring into a semi-snarl. _Got to keep cool – that's the only way I'm coming home to Bo_.

Her radio crackled. It was Lt. Commander MacArthur, the squadron leader.

" _Blue One to all Hydras, form attack column on flight leaders in Blue-Red-Green order. Target is heavy flak batteries in grid C-7. We will attack on my mark."_

Hitomi, as Green Flight leader, maneuvered well behind Red One, checking to make sure that the Greens were positioning themselves in diamond on him. She glanced over her left shoulder. Mark Sherman, her wingmate and best friend, was in position. _Ready as always_ , Hitomi thought. _They don't come braver than that one_.

Then she glanced over her right shoulder. Daniel was drifting a bit too far to the right, and his own wingmate forming on his was too far right as well.

" _Green One to Green Three,"_ she said tersely. "Tighten formation." _It'll get loose enough when we have to jink, she could have added, but knew he could save the lecture for later._

 _This will be a tricky run_ , she thought. _If Blue and Red Flights hit, we'll have to pick our targets out from the smoke to avoid wasting our shots. If they don't, we're going to be diving into some pretty heavy fire. Either way, we'll have problems._

" _Blue One to all Hydras,"_ came the voice of MacArthur. _"Target area clear of friendlies. Will commence attack run, follow me at modified intervals."_ At the pre-strike briefing, they had agreed to increase their flight separation by 500 yards, to throw off any Sepi gunners who had gotten used to the standard pattern. _"On my mark: three, two, mark!"_

Blue Flight dove.

Hitomi could only devote a small part of her attention to their battle. The larger part was keeping track of the intervals between herself and Red One, and making sure that the Greens were all keeping in formation. Timing would be important, to saturate the Spearatist defenders.

Flak started popping ahead of Blue Flight.

Red Flight dove.

"Green One t'all Greens, attack on mah go: three, two, go!" said Hitomi, trying as best she could to keep her voice steady as she throttled to military and shoved the stick forward. She kept an eye on the air speed indicator – the Sabre was designed to be supersonic, but could shed its wings in an overenthusiastic dive. There was really no good place for that to happen, but over enemy territory was definitely on the list of worst places for such an event.

She felt a rush course through her. She shuddered in near-ecstasy. Fear was gone, replaced by a cold calculus of probabilities. Time slowed for her.

She merged with her machine. her kinaesthetic sense, her view through the Perspex, the cockpit gauges: all became a seamless whole of knowledge that meshed into tactical awareness.

It was all, suddenly, easy. She and the Sabre were one, and the Sepi's nothing but a problem to be solved.

She was lead so would be the first target of most of those guns. Her awareness flicked forward, and she saw that Blue Flight had come through intact, maybe one damaged; Red Flight also okay. The Separatists must have been shaken up by Hydra Squadron; now it was up to Basilisk to finish the job.

Many of the gun emplacements had been replaced by pits of fire coughing dirty black smoke into the sky. Their crews and weapons had been neutralized (that was the word she preferred when in this mental zone). She saw the intact guns in the northwest sector of the target area. If they survived they could shoot down the clumsy bombers that were to drop the bridges. Those guns were Green Flight's job.

"Greens, target the guns ahead and starboard!" Soon she would have no more time for talk, and for the rest of the thirty seconds of this attack run, each Green pilot would effectively be fighting alone.

A cotton ball materialized below, ahead and to the left. Flak. Her mind swiftly calculated probabilities. Next ones will be long. She jinked left, flying past the cloud. Something rattled off her underside, apparently doing no real harm. More cotton balls popped right and aft of her Sabre. Those were farther off, and she felt no more hail.

 _Now to throw them_ , she thought coolly, as if this were just the next step of some maintenance procedure. She pushed the stick slightly forward, throttled back a tiny bit. A thicket of flak burst above and in front, right where she would have been.

Hitomi pulled up, throttled forward. She was now right on a line approaching the first gun battery. Flak burst below and behind. Ahead light sparked from smaller cannons and tracers climbed toward her position.

Hitomi armed a rocket pod, dipped her nose, and fired. Her Sabre shuddered to a momentarily-uncompensated shift in its balance as 5.75 artillery rockets streaked towards the automatic emplacements. As the last one left its tube she was already coming up again, pointing her nose at the heavy guns.

A small part of her mind was aware of the rockets hitting, bursting in the gun pits, of automatic cannons flying into the air in smoke and flame along with bits of trucks and equipment and horribly-incomplete things that might once have been of humanoid form. Time enough to remember that later, in his nightmares. Her job was far from done.

Her nose had risen and the first heavy battery was right ahead and in range now! She shot her second pod dry, then squeezed the trigger on her six .50-caliber machine guns. The rockets blasted gun carriages apart, overpressures no doubt shattering delicate sighting equipment. The plasma from the guns tore through ammo wagons, raising fireballs of secondary explosions.

She felt unstoppable. She was human no longer, but some impossible chimeric creature bringing death from above. The Sabre was her wings; its weapons her hell-spitting horn, and the Sepi's nothing but vermin to be trampled under her feet.

Hitomi turned slightly as she streaked through the smoke cloud, aiming for a second emplacement beyond the first. Her eidetic positional memory served her well, as she found her nose pointed directly at the second target. Machine guns frantically tried to track her, but her crossing speed was too great, and not even a single shot struck the Sabre. The flak guns rotated, but there was simply not enough time left in the lives of the crew.

Her thumb pressed the trigger. The Sabre staggered in mid-air as 120 rounds per second streaked forward, spraying the gun pit. The twin anti-aircraft guns crumpled in on themselves at the sheer weight of metal, the droids crewing them flung back by the momentum of the plasma bullets tearing them to pieces and then found the stacked shells and the pit disappeared in a volcano of fire.

At the last possible moment, Hitomi rammed to full throttle and turned, avoiding flying right through that smoke cloud and its hidden load of potentially-deadly shrapnel. Below her tracers swept and flak burst, but there was no gunner and no radar sight in existence which could have accurately predicted her course, nor trained the gun fast enough to track the rapidly-crossing target.

Hitomi soared into the skies, free and clear, the positions dropping away swiftly behind the howl of the Sabre's engine. Behind her rose secondary explosions, and the blasts from the rockets of her flight-mates as they carried out their own strikes. She watched with relief as first one, then another, then the last rose clear of the roiling chaos the Sabres had made of the enemy position, climbing to join her.

Then she frowned. One of the silver birds coughed a trail of black smoke.

" _Green Two, I'm hit,"_ came the voice of Mark. He was calm, his tone professional.

"Green One to Two, how bad the damage?" Hitomi replied, similarly professional. She was worried, though. Mark only got completely professional when things got dangerous.

" _Ah, I've got a fuel leak from my starboard tank, maybe a bit of fire in the fuel line. Mm, fire suppressor not working."_ The trail of black smoke thickened. _"Cutting out starboard fuel pump."_ The trail thinned, greyed.

"Ah'm a-comin' up on your three," Hitomi informed her friend – it was important to let the other pilot know from exactly where she was approaching. She closed to within 50 yards of the stricken Sabre: close enough to see the damage, but far enough away to pull out if Mark suffered a controls failure.

She could plainly see the mist streaming from starboard. What bothered her was that he thought she could see more mist streaming from elsewhere. She ascended slightly, and yes – there was another, though thinner, trail from under the port wing.

"Mark, you've got two busted fuel tanks. You can't make the ship."

" _Roger that,"_ replied Mark. There was only a slight tremor in his tone, as he received what might be his death sentence.

Hitomi's mind raced. She had left the zone of omnipotence; now she quickly forced herself back in there. She knew mark's life depended on a miracle.

She quickly ascertained the flight's position by glancing at landmarks. This was not preferred air-navigational technique, but she didn't have time to do formal calculations. Then, a succession of maps swiftly flashed through her mind.

There was only one possibility.

"Green One to Green Three. Take your element back to the ship. Green Two course 175, Ah'm leading you in to Goose Down airstrip."

" _Roger, Green One,"_ came the confirmation from Green Three.

" _Roger, Green One,"_ from Mark. They began turning onto the new course

" _Where's Goose Down?"_

"Small strip, Mostly light recon jobs."

" _Jet rated?"_

"Afraid not, Look at it this way. We'll be the first jets to land there. We can make history."

" _Well, I for one am excited to be a part of making history."_

The miles of Separatist territory unrolled beneath their aircraft. Hitomi was glad that the Sepi's air force was mostly shot down or hiding: the O.A.D.F. had obtained local air supremacy before launching the raid on Toki-rin. Consulting her mental map of Sepi airbases, she saw that it was very unlikely that they could vector any interceptors against them. This was good, because if she had to fight, she might run out of fuel. And if Mark had to maneuver, he might run out of airplane.

Mark gave Hitomi regular status reports. She was doing this as much for Mark's benefit as her own. There was something wrong with Mark's voice. As they closed on the airstrip, she noticed that Mark's voice was becoming a little muzzy.

"Two, what's your fuel status now?" she asked for the twentieth time..

Silence.

"Mark, Ah need to know your fuel."

More silence.

"Mark? Mark?"

No answer.

Mark's Sabre was still flying well, or about as well as it was going to fly after taking at least two penetrating shrapnel hits. Actually, the fuel line damage would have only very minor effects on the jet's flight characteristics – until, of course, the plane ran dry and its engine became so much dead weight on a glider.

Hitomi eased up as close to Mark's starboard side, inspected her friend's airplane. Was there damage she hadn't seen before?

Scanned the side. No missed damage. Eased down to inspect the ventral surfaces. No damage there.

But she noticed that Mark's head seemed slumped backward. Not forward, as she would have expected had Mark gone unconscious, but arched backward, as if Mark was under some immense physical stress.

 _He's hurt,_ Hitomi realized. _Maybe badly. Not out yet, but barely able to remain conscious. But how?_

She throttled back, then came back up on the port side. This time she inspected the cockpit carefully. And she saw it.

There was a jagged hole low in the Perspex bubble.

 _How'd I miss that?_ she briefly wondered. Any number of scenarios flashed through her mind, the most obvious ones being that she had been looking for damage in places other than the cockpit, or that the slipstream had widened an existing hole.

 _He's been hit_ , Hitomi confirmed. _Probably took one to the torso. Oh, damn. He's probably close to fainting from blood loss. Damn, damn, damn. Does he have even a chance of landing in that condition? We're over our own territory now. A bit rugged, but more survivable than trying to set down on a short strip with a body wound. He's got to bail out. First things first. Get his attention!_

She tried the radio a few times, but Mark wasn't answering. She tried hand and head signals, but mark wasn't paying attention.

She thought a moment. There was one thing he could do – a bit dangerous, but all the choices further down his list were even more dangerous.

She dropped back, then throttled forward and streaked close over the top of Mark's Sabre at high speed.

" _What the - !"_ came the startled shout over the radio. _"Hitomi, what are you doing?"_

"Mark!" She cried out in undisguised joy. Then, more professionally. "Ah, mark, you need to bail out."

" _What about my ship?"_

"To Tambelon with your ship! Mark, if'n you try to land now, you're going to crash anyway, and the OADF Naval Air Force will lose a Sabre and a good pilot. And the second one is less replaceable!"

" _Ah … Roger that, One,"_ replied Mark. A pause. _"Sorry, I've got a problem. Ejection seat not functional."_ A longer pause. _"Another problem. Canopy is jammed. Looks like I will be riding the ship in."_

 _Think, Hitomi, think._

"Roger that, Two," said Hitomi. "Can you kick the canopy off? Request your status …"

" _Ship is running on fumes. I'm not getting any fuel reading, but that's got to be the gauges because my engine's still lit. Pilot is hit pretty bad, One, Took a shell through my body. Dud … that's why I'm still here … but I think it hit a lung. So I'm running on fumes too. Canopy's jammed pretty tight, and I think I am going to faint if I try to do what you suggested. I'm sorry, Hitomi, I'm all out of options here."_

Something was blurring Hitomi's vision. She wiped her goggles, then under them, and realized with a shock that it was tears.

 _No_! she told himself savagely. _Not now! Mark's still alive! He needs you!_

She had an idea. It was a really, really bad idea, but unfortunately it was the best her desperate mind could draw out of the pile of even worse options.

"Two, I'm going to lead you in to the strip. You're going to come in right behind me, ride my stream, until our altitude's at a hundred feet. Then I'm going to pull up and turn away, while you make your landing. Do you copy?"

" _Roger, One … but … wait … how will you …?"_

"Do you copy the plan?"

She heard Mark gulp. At least she hoped it was a gulp, rather than his lungs collapsing. There was silence, then

" _Roger, One. Copy and will execute. Over and out."_

Hitomi put her Sabre in the lead. Its wings and fuselage cut the air, leaving a path for Mark to follow. There was only a very small space in which the air was calm enough – if he made a mistake, he would either fall into a zone of turbulence, possibly losing control – or, worse, overcorrect forward, crashing right into the aft end of her own fighter.

He found the sweet spot, and rode it.

 _He's a damn good pilot_ , thought Hitomi. _Not one in ten could do what he's doing. But … can he keep doing it while his body's failing around him?_

Then she rigorously squelched the thought. Doubts were useless: they were committed to this insane attempt. Either both would land alive, or neither.

She had already announced an emergency, now she explained her plan to the tower. The tower rejected it. He informed them of where they could put their rejection. He continued the approach.

The strip grew before them. She watched the airspeed indicator, the altimeter, drank in the world around her, felt her starfighter through her rump and belly on the control couch. Her world shrank to this approach.

She was on the precise glide path he needed for this. One hundred feet! She throttled up, his engine screaming as she climbed and turned away to starboard. It was all up to Mark now. She craned her neck around to starboard and rear, but she could not see what was happening on the strip; her own wing and tail blocked her view. He continued the turn – she had enough fuel to line up for another approach, and she wanted to see for herself what was happening.

She sighted Mark's starfighter just as it began to brake. There was something wrong. She could see a trail of flame on the runway. Mark's other fuel line, the one which had the minor leak, had burst completely under the stress of landing. When it had almost come to a stop, something went wrong. Mark's fighter slewed to port, started to roll to starboard, snapped its starboard wing completely off, then fell back down on its port side, in the process breaking its other wing. Flames and smoke engulfed the port and rear of the stricken starfighter.

Airmen in jeeps and trucks were rushing onto the field. Streams of carbon dioxide foam sprayed the burning fighter. There was an ambulance, and more men rushing out, breaking open the cockpit, pulling forth a limp form. They had Mark. She just hoped he was alive.

" _We have your man,"_ came the word from the tower _. "He's wounded, but we think he'll live."_

"How long to clear the strip?" Dusk asked.

" _Ten minutes."_

She checked her fuel gauges. Her recent maneuver had depleted his tanks more than she'd have liked at this point, but she had enough fuel to land safely, provided she did it on the first attempt.

She orbited the field a few times, then brought the Sabre around in a racetrack oval and went into approach again. It was perfectly executed, and it should have been the best landing possible on such a short strip.

It was not the fault of Lt. Hitomi 'Dusk' Zhang that flak had shredded her landing gear, or that the system status light which should have warned her of this occurrence had also been taken out by that damage. Her first intimation of the problem was when her wheels touched tarmac once … twice … and then promptly collapsed right underneath her.

She performed the best belly-landing humanly possible.

It was not quite enough.

The Sabre slewed to port, then to starboard as she overcorrected, and then pitched up on its nose and port wing. She heard the scream and snap of overstressed metal failing; then the wing tore clean off.

 _At least I didn't run out of strip_ , came Hitomi's absurd thought of self-congratulation, and then her plane just managed to avoid rolling completely over. It ran out of momentum just before passing the tipping point, and instead fell back down, hard, on its belly.

This time Hitomi heard the snaps of her left hind tibia and fibia, and the scream that then came forth had little to do with overstressed metal, instead issuing from her own mouth. She hung in her straps in agony, wondering why no adrenal rush had numbed it as she had heard was the normal case with wounds, and thought this the worst pain he had ever known …

… until the medics dragged her out of her cockpit. She screamed even more loudly as the bones in her leg flexed again. They put her on a stretcher and raced her away from her smouldering airplane. Hitomi could see the burning hulk of Hitomi's plane just to the side of the field. Her last thought was,

 _Wow. Mark and I really left them with a mess here,_

before the needle found her vein and the sweet kiss of morphine took away first her pain and then his consciousness.

* * *

 _Article in the Manhattan Times, May 20th, 2624_

 _Allied forces airstrikes three days ago successfully destroyed the key bridges at Toki-rin on Tellev on the Yon River. These strikes have cut off the supplies to the spearhead enemy forces. OADF Army General Runner reports that enemy attacks have slackened and their main offensive appears to have bogged down. Allied forces today began flanking attacks which threaten to completely cut off enemy armored units …_

 _Text of a letter from the US War Department to Mr. Zhang_

* * *

 _Dear Mr. Zhang,_

 _This is to inform you that your Wife, USNAF Lt. Hitomi Zhang, was wounded in action on May 17th, 2624. She is presently recuperating in the care of the US Army Medical Corps. Her condition is good, and she is expected to make a full recovery._

 _Sincerely Yours,_

 _Commander Mason,_

 _Orion Arm Navy_

* * *

 _Text of a letter from the US War Department to Mrs Sherman_

 _Dear Mrs. Sherman_

 _This is to inform you that your son, USNAF Lt. (j.g.) Mark Sherman, was wounded in action on May 17th, 2624. He is presently recuperating care of the US Army Medical Corps. His condition is guarded but he is expected to make a recovery._

 _Sincerely Yours,_

 _Commander Mason,_

 _Orion Arm Navy_

* * *

 ** _A/N: this is about the main story, the next chapter should be out in the next two weeks, sorry for the wait._**


	6. The Last Stand

The First Contact War Short Stories

Chapter 6

The Last Stand

" _For the grace, for the might of our Lord  
For the home of the holy  
For the faith, for the way of the sword  
Gave their lives so boldly_

For the grace, for the might of our Lord  
In the name of His glory  
For the faith, for the way of the sword  
Come and tell their story again _"_

 _Sabaton, The last Stand_

 _2622 August 5th Earth Standard Calendar, Cpt Hans Krieger_ _, 77th Swiss Guards, Malchor_

Hans checked his rifle's ammunition one last time. He and a hundred eighty-nine others had held the town for the last day from the twenty thousand strong militia. Malchor was a planet next to one of the major hyperspace lanes occupied by this 'Republic' that the O.A.G. had been supporting since first contact. He and the rest of the men had been excited at first. Not only had alien life been discovered and accepted them, but they were also going to war. It was something he had trained for since he joined the army. It felt like something out of a Sci-Fi novel he enjoyed reading as a kid. Space marines fighting aliens and robots but the novelty had soon worn off. He and elements of the 77th Swiss Guard had been stationed on what would be called an outer colony back in the O.A.G. It had a small population of only two million that was centred on the north most continent. The climate was very Mediterranean and it felt like being in Italy.

Malchor did have a small population on it before though, all from Naboo. The town, called Ostus, they had been stationed in was essentially the capitol of the planet. It was centred around the ancient temple there that was home to forty monks, all from the Brotherhood of Cognizance, which highly valued knowledge. The 77th had been stationed there to guard the approach to Naboo and act as an early warning. Ostus could be divided into three sections. The New Town, where the new settlers had set up shop and where they worked and lived. The old town, which was surrounded by a low wall which the 77th had held until they had been overwhelmed by sheer numbers. It was also where the Monastery was located. It contained thousands of years of history and knowledge gathered by the Brotherhood. And the third section was across the river where a small castle like building stood.

At first everything was going well, the people seemed to tolerate their presence. The monks had been fascinated with them. Asking them questions about their technology, history, sociology and philosophy. They had answered to the best of their abilities and did so as long as the information was not classified. They had gotten along with the monks extraordinarily well. But the people had either grown tired of their presence or had aligned themselves with the Separatists. This had led to twenty thousand strong militia knocking down the gates of the town. Burning, killing and raping indiscriminately. The small force of a hundred and eighty-nine men stationed in the town had only been able to hold the town until dawn and till about 0900 hours when they had been force to fall back, then for five hours and thousands of rounds of ammunition had held the monastery walls. They had been forced back to the cemetery and the steps into the monastery. He had sent forty-two men with the monks across the river with as much of the data stored in the monastery across to the castle on the other side. He and the remainder of the men were going to buy them as much time as possible to get to the other side and seal the entrance until reinforcements could relieve them.

He looked over the town as the black smoke rose above it. He didn't want to think about all the civvies who were dying in what essentially amounted to a riot. Reaching down to his chest he pulled out the crucifix his father had given him before he shipped out. He clutched it in his hand as he felt an unease in his stomach.

"Wer unter dem Schirm des Höchsten sitzt und unter dem Schatten des Allmächtigen bleibt, der spricht zu dem herrn: Meine Zuversicht und meine Burg, mein Gott, auf den ich hoffe. Denn er errettet dich vom Strick des Jägers und von der schädlichen Pestilenz. Er wird dich mit seinen Fittichen decken, und deine Zuversicht wird sein unter seinen Flügeln. Seine Wahrheit ist Schirm und Schild, daß du nicht erschrecken müssest vor dem Grauen der Nacht, vor den Pfeilen, die des Tages fliegen, vor der Pestilenz, die im Finstern schleicht, vor der Seuche, die im Mittage verderbt. Ob tausend fallen zu deiner Seite und zehntausend zu deiner Rechten, so wird es doch dich nicht treffen. Ja du wirst mit deinen Augen deine Lust sehen und schauen, wie den Gottlosen vergolten wird. Denn der herr ist deine Zuversicht; der Höchste ist deine Zuflucht. Es wird dir kein Übel begegnen, und keine Plage wird zu deiner Hütte sich nahen. Denn er hat seinen Engeln befohlen über dir, daß sie dich behüten auf allen deinen Wegen, daß sie dich auf Händen tragen und du deinen Fuß nicht an einen Stein stoßest. Auf Löwen und Ottern wirst du gehen, und treten auf junge Löwen und Drachen. "Er begehrt mein, so will ich ihm aushelfen; er kennt meinen Namen, darum will ich ihn schützen. Er ruft mich an, so will ich ihn erhören; ich bin bei ihm in der Not; ich will ihn herausreißen und zu Ehren bringen. Ich will ihn sättigen mit langem Leben und will ihm zeigen mein Heil." He muttered out under his breath. Psalm 91. He felt the unease lessen. He let a breath out as he slipped the silver crucifix back under his shirt and armour.

"Sir, sie kommen." One of the scouts he had posted yelled as he ran back to join them.

Krieger let out a sigh, before turning to the men gathered around him.

"Bajonette fixieren!" He called out. The men like him reached down to their belts. Grabbing the eleven inch blade adn slidding it out of its sheath, he fixed the bayonet onto the barrell of his gun. A serise of clinks as the metal blade slide onto the metal barrell meant the men had attached the bayonets. He heard shouting and yelling approaching in the distance, signalling the mob/militia was soon to be upon them.

"Männer. Wir haben hart gekämpft, jetzt müssen wir wieder kämpfen. Wir werden hier stehen, geben unseren Kameraden die Zeit, die sie brauchen. Lasst uns den Feind mit Feuer treffen und ihnen zeigen, warum sie uns fürchten sollten. Denken Sie daran, wenn Sie den Himmel umkommen, brauchte ein Held. Und der Himmel wählte dich."

The men let out a dark chuckle as they watched the militia approach. Now he was able to get a better look he saw that they were mostly armed with farming tools, knives and a few blasters. Nothing that could match up to the rocket launcher, machine gun they had on them. Not to mention the two mortars that had been set up on the castle over the river. But then again, the firepower wouldn't hold up with their current level of ammunition and the numbers of the militia now only eight hundred meters away. They needed to inflict as much damage as possible before the mob got close. That way the mob would break apart and flee or at the very least more of his men could survive.

"OFFENES FEUER!" He yelled as he pulled down the trigger. His AC160 started spiting out plasma from his last clip. The rest of the company followed his example, the machine gun unleashing a devastating arc of fire into the mass of bodies. The plasma struck the attackers, melting any part of their bodies that it touched. Plasma was a vicious thing on living beings. It melted parts of the body and left third degree burns, in some cases it could eat through metal as well as skin. And the militia was getting a first-hand experience. In response, they let out a war cry and charged. Those in the front would fall to their fire and be trampled over by those behind them. He heard the dull thwomp of the two mortars firing and the whistle as mortar shells started to land around and in the mass of charging men and women, sending body parts flying.

The 77th had firepower and training, the militia had numbers. It didn't matter how much plasma they put own range or how well they could fight. Eventually the militia would reach them and likely defeat them in the brutal melee that would ensue. The Militia was now just a hundred metres away and closing fast as Hans reloaded his last clip. Some of his men had already ran out and were preparing to engage in the nearing close quarters combat.

The Militia was now upon them. Hans ducked under an improvised spear of a stick with a knife attached to it and brought his rifle with bayonet attached into the man's stomach. The man bent over, blood coming out of his mouth. Twisting the bayonet to the left he pulled the rifle out of the man who collapsed.

Another person swung at him from the side with a blade. Using the centre of his rifle to block it. He pushed the stock end of the rifle up and used the momentum to push the blade off to his left. He then smashed the stock of the rifle into the attacker's nose, breaking it, the woman letting out a cry of pain. The woman staggered back in a daze. Hans pointed his rifle at the woman an unleashed a seven-round burst into her. His eyes darted around the battlefield. Already a dozen of his men had fallen but it was evident that the Orionian armour, training and weaponry was far better. Forty bodies of the militia could attest for that.

He saw one of his men on the floor, a bloodthirsty militiaman over the top of him. Hans raised his rifle and blasted the man in the head. His aim turned to a man next to the one he shot. The iron sights hovered over the man for the briefest moment before his rifle cracked and the man fell over dead. Turning clockwise, each man or woman that got in his sights fell to his precise rounds until his gun clicked when it had run out of ammo. With his weapon ammo depleted, the gun had become a fancy spear or club. By now the 77th where being forced up the steps to the monastery. Half of their number remained of those from before the charge. They were covered in cuts, bruises and one man had lost part of his arm. Their armour was dented and like their uniforms soaked in blood. The courtyard had been painted red with blood with little red streams running into the drains and the cemetery looked like it belonged in a budget zombie movie with all the blood and bodies. Hans wasn't sure how many militia had been killed but seeing as the amount of bodies sometimes formed piles, like a catch of fish court by a fisherman left to dry in the sun.

"Nehmen Sie so viele der Bastarde mit, wie Sie können. Für die siebzig siebte!"

"Für die siebzig siebte!" With that battle cry Hans and the seventy-five surviving men rushed towards the recovering militia at the bottom of the steps. Hans swung his rifle at the nearest militia, the butt breaking the man's skull. Next, he speared a man through the throat. He deflected a swipe at his chest. He felt his armour being struck from behind and pierced the woman in the gut with his bayonet. He felt a pain on his arm and something wet start dripping down it. He turned a saw a boy no older than fourteen. Bloodied knife in hand. Eyes wide in fear and adrenaline. Hans didn't hesitate and smashed the boy across the face with his rifle and closed his eyes as he impaled the child with the bayonet. Hans let out a cry of pain when he felt something cut his lower left leg. He fell to one knee. Pulling out his side arm he shot the attacker. He lunged over to where he had dropped his rifle and pulled the bayonet off and held it in a reverse grip. He stabbed a man in the armpit and shot him in the head. Indescribable pain filled his entire body. A pitchfork had pierced him through the neck opening of his armour. Two of the three prongs on it punctured his right lung, the third stopped just short of his heart. A foot used his shoulder as leverage as it was pulled out of him, sending him face first into the dirt. Pain filled his as he rolled over using the last of his strength to shoot his attacker three times, pitchfork clattering to the ground. He coughed up blood as he propped himself up on a corpse. Weakly raising his arm, he fired his pistol, the recoil sending his arm back each time he fired. The edges of his vision started to become blurry and darken as he felt weaker, blood leaking out of him and filing his lungs. _Mutter, Vater, es tut mir leid, dass ich nicht nach Hause kommen könnte. Ich werde auf die Perle für dich warten._

"Kapitän! Kapitän!"

* * *

 _BBC news broadcast, 5th August_

" _Today, the soldiers of the seventy-seventh Swiss Guards stationed on Malchor came under assault by a militia that has aligned itself with the Separatists. The hundred eighty-nine men held the capital of Ostus before being overwhelmed. Initially casualty reports say that one hundred and forty-seven servicemen and women. The forty-two survivors are currently seeking shelter in an old fort opposite the town. The estimated casualties for the Sparatist aligned militia are placed around fourteen to sixteen thousand. A relief force consisting of the 343_ _rd_ _and 2178_ _th_ _mountain Jaeger divisions have been dispatched and are expected to arrive on the 8_ _th_ _. Elsewhere the first O.A.G. fleets have arrived in the Republic and are re-enforcing the Northern, Eastern and Southern fronts with some units already engaged with the CIS. Supreme General Charles Zweibrücken, commander of all Orionian forces in the Republic says that OADF has been preparing for years for a potential confrontation with a hostile power and is ready to go to war with the Separatists. Already a quarter of the OADF has either arrived in the Republic or in transited, with even more men and arms on the way with the full mobilisation of the OADF. We now go live to our correspondent on the Earth Senate Station for more details. Jackie…"_

* * *

Translations

Wer _unter dem Schirm des Höchsten sitzt und unter dem Schatten des Allmächtigen bleibt, der spricht zu dem herrn: Meine Zuversicht und meine Burg, mein Gott, auf den ich hoffe. Denn er errettet dich vom Strick des Jägers und von der schädlichen Pestilenz. Er wird dich mit seinen Fittichen decken, und deine Zuversicht wird sein unter seinen Flügeln. Seine Wahrheit ist Schirm und Schild, daß du nicht erschrecken müssest vor dem Grauen der Nacht, vor den Pfeilen, die des Tages fliegen, vor der Pestilenz, die im Finstern schleicht, vor der Seuche, die im Mittage verderbt. Ob tausend fallen zu deiner Seite und zehntausend zu deiner Rechten, so wird es doch dich nicht treffen. Ja du wirst mit deinen Augen deine Lust sehen und schauen, wie den Gottlosen vergolten wird. Denn der herr ist deine Zuversicht; der Höchste ist deine Zuflucht. Es wird dir kein Übel begegnen, und keine Plage wird zu deiner Hütte sich nahen. Denn er hat seinen Engeln befohlen über dir, daß sie dich behüten auf allen deinen Wegen,_ _daß sie dich auf Händen tragen und du deinen Fuß nicht an einen Stein stoßest._ _Auf Löwen und Ottern wirst du gehen, und treten auf junge Löwen und Drachen._ _"Er begehrt mein, so will ich ihm aushelfen; er kennt meinen Namen, darum will ich ihn schützen. Er ruft mich an, so will ich ihn erhören; ich bin bei ihm in der Not; ich will ihn herausreißen und zu Ehren bringen._ _Ich will ihn sättigen mit langem Leben und will ihm zeigen mein Heil. =_ Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the Lord, "He is my refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust." Surely he will save you from the fowler's snare and from the deadly pestilence. He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge; his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart. You will not fear the terror of night, nor the arrow that flies by day, nor the pestilence that stalks in the darkness, nor the plague that destroys at midday. A thousand may fall at your side, ten thousand at your right hand, but it will not come near you. You will only observe with your eyes and see the punishment of the wicked. If you say, "The Lord is my refuge," and you make the Most High your dwelling, no harm will overtake you, no disaster will come near your tent. For he will command his angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways; they will lift you up in their hands, so that you will not strike your foot against a stone. You will tread on the lion and the cobra; you will trample the great lion and the serpent. "Because he loves me," says the Lord, "I will rescue him; I will protect him, for he acknowledges my name. He will call on me, and I will answer him; I will be with him in trouble, I will deliver him and honour him. With long life I will satisfy him and show him my salvation."

 _Sir, sie kommen_ = Sir, they're comeing

 _OFFENES FEUER = Open fire_

 _Männer. Wir haben hart gekämpft, jetzt müssen wir wieder kämpfen_ _. Wir werden hier stehen, geben unseren Kameraden die Zeit, die sie brauchen. Lasst uns den Feind mit Feuer treffen und ihnen zeigen, warum sie uns fürchten sollten. Denken Sie daran, wenn Sie den Himmel umkommen, brauchte ein Held. Und der Himmel wählte dich =_

 _Nehmen Sie so viele der Bastarde mit, wie Sie können. Für die siebzig siebte! =_ take as many of them with you as you can. For the 77th

 _Für die siebzig siebte! =_ for the 77th

 _Mutter, Vater, es tut mir leid, dass ich nicht nach Hause kommen könnte. Ich werde auf die Perle für dich warten._ = mother, father, i'm sorry i couldn't come home. i'll be waiting at the pearly gates for you.

Kapitän! Kapitän! = Captain! Captain!


	7. Wolfpack

_Wolfpack_

"569 makes the contact and lead them,  
U-94 scores a kill in the dark.  
124 sinking four in two approaches,  
406 suffers failure on launch."

Sabaton, Wolfpack

 _25031 Galactic Standard Calendar, Rear-Admiral Kinata, Separatist Navy, Convoy 092 enrooted to Mechis_

For over a hundred years, the Separatists would rule the hyperspace lanes. Their navy was by far the most advanced, and the most numerous. At the peak of her strength the Separatist fleet had millions of modern cruisers, destroyers and capital ships, billions of fighters and countless hordes of tough and veteran droids at her disposal.

Even with the loss of the 3rd Fleet to the O.A.G., and the added strain of patrolling the newly conquered void of the mid-rim worlds, no fleet in service could challenge the might of the CIS's Grand Armadas.

That was why Rear-Admiral Kinata saw no real need to hurry the ships of his command along. The squadron, and the eight supply ships they were escorting, were making very good time in the cold void of space; they would back at port in Mechis by the end of the week, well ahead of schedule.

Kinata idly scratched at the rough stubble on his chin, as he gazed back out to the stars, studying the forms of the plodding supply ships. High Command had recently increased the already massive demand for military supplies and fuel, and Kinata, for the life of him could not figure out why for the sudden increase in demand.

The Separatists were winning, weren't they? General Grevious was pushing the Republic back into the core-worlds. Conquered by his vaste droid armies, the Jedi were falling one by one to the might of the Separatist armies, the only thing that remained to defy the glory of the CIS was the O.A.G., at the ass ends of the galaxy. Kinata wasn't too worried; they would be simple to conquer now, especially with the losses they had suffered at the hands of General Zhao despite his defeat. General Zhao had managed to inflict enough losses on the O.A.G. to stop their Southern and Northern offensives which had pushed the CIS out of dozens systems. But now with the Republic about to be brought to its knees by an upcoming offensive by the invincible General Grevious, the O.A.G. would soon sue for peace.

Ah, it didn't matter. Kinata told himself as climbed to the bridge of his cruiser, the _Soul of Fire_. His pride and joy, he had commanded her in over a dozen battles, and when he had finally been given an Admiral's commission, he had insisted that the _Soul_ remain under his command.

The increased demand of supplies being shipped to front line worlds had pushed the merchant fleet almost to the breaking point. Tanks, reinforcements and supplies had to be delivered to the occupying forces, scattered throughout the galaxy. The navy needed fuel, tools, and equipment to maintain their fleets and to keep their ships operational.

Adding to the strain on top of this, pirate activity was on the rise. The slow-moving supply ships were prime targets, the rebel and pirate groups would pay a high price for the stolen fuel.

After several attacks on the lone merchant ships, High Command had come up with the idea of the convoy. A squadron of CIS Navy ships would escort several supply ships at once, providing protection for the vulnerable merchant ships against the pirates.

Kinata had to admit, despite putting more strain on the navy, that the idea was working. Pirate attacks were down by almost sixty-percent, and those that did attack, would hastily retreat when they realized that they were facing off against a dozen cruisers.

Kinata grinned to himself as he entered the bridge. The bridge staff was hustling about, navigation was making calculations on the dozen charts that were displayed upon the many screens and computers that dominated the room. The communication officer was watching the other ships and reporting flagged messages back to navigation. The helmsman was arguing with engineering about the amount of speed that was need to keep in pace with the rest of the convoy.

He was proud of his men. Despite the strain of the long days and weeks at space, they had remained professional and dutiful. He made a promise to himself that when the convoy arrived back home he would see that they got some shore leave. He gazed out of the bridge to darkness which stretched for lightyears ahead of him. Just the way he liked it; a quick run and no sign of trouble.

* * *

 _2623 September 19th Earth Standard Calendar, Captain Frantz, Prowler U-031 tracking Separatist Convoy_

What Kinata did not realize, was that the eighteen ships of his convoy were being followed. Not in space, where the Separatist Navy ruled, and not in the air.

No, he was being followed from where he would never expect an attack. He was being followed above, below and to the sides, from the deceptively calm viod of the space, which the CIS was meant rule for centuries.

Captain Frantz of the Orion Arm Self Defence Force Navy, smiled grimly, as he studied the eighteen ships of the convoy from the camera's of his prowler.

"They're turning." He barked sharply. "Five degrees east, still moving rather slowly. Move a head of the convoy, and prepare the torpedoes!"

His men snapped to work; the Navigations officer and pilot began to enter commands into the ship, setting a new course for the ship to follow. Frantz felt the whole ship shift as it raced to get ahead of the Separatist convoy they were stalking.

"How much time do we have left with the cloaking field?" Frantz asked the eccentric ships mechanic of the craft that he and his men were embarked on.

The man pulled his sleeve back, over a device that had been strapped to his upper arm, giving Frantz a glimpse of the scared flesh of his arm, the results of a fire that had broken out that had gone awry. Although he had never been a spiritual man, Frantz found himself thanking whatever gods that might have been listening, that the prowlers stealth feilds had not been added to that list of catastrophic failures.

"Approximately two hours, captain."

Frantz nodded and turned towards the weapons officer who talked to the four men down in the torpedo room.

"Send the other Prowlers a message, we attack in five minutes, remain submerged; four torpedoes each, targets are freighters first, military ships last. We withdraw to a safe distance when we have an hour of time left."

The man nodded as he carried out his orders. Any commander could tell you how vital communication was during a planned attack, so Weapons Research department of the Navy, after consulting with its scientists, had devised a new radio system that would be undetectable and would penetrate the field projected around the prowler that hid its visible, electronic and partially its thermal image.

The torpedoes were nothing special, missiles designed to have a bigger boom but were thinner and longer and didn't require a targeting solution. Their target was sighted, a heavy merchant ship, loaded down with cargo. All that Frantz was waiting for was the conformation from his four other Prowlers.

Seconds ticked by like hours, tension filled the prowler as each man held their breath.

Finally, communications officer Donitz nodded. "Message sent and received captain! Ready to fire!"

Frantz felt another grim smile tug at his lips. "Then fire! Send these bastards to the bottom!"

As one, the four men operating the two torpedo tubes, pressed the fire command, sending the two torpedoes rocketing towards their intended target.

Thirty seconds later they struck home and exploded.

* * *

 _25031 Galactic Standard Calendar, Rear-Admiral Kinata, Separatist Navy, Convoy 092 enroute to Mechis_

Alarms rang throughout the massive cruiser, calling men to battle stations. Droids, yelling and cursing in confusion, ran through familiar halls and decks as they readied weapons, and armed the particle cannons and the point defence guns along the sides in preparation for attack.

All Rear-Admiral Kinata could do was stare in abject horror, as two massive explosions detonated off the starboard side of the merchant ship _Corona_ , sending two great waves of fire shooting thirty feet into space. The massive ship, listed as the lights on board repeatedly flickered until settling on off as secondary explosions ripped through the ship. The air inside it was sucked out as well as crew, droids and cargo as the big ship died where it was.

He didn't see any escape pods.

"Status report!" Kinata yelled to his watchman, "What in seven hells name just happened!? Where did that attack come from!?"

The droids on the bridge could only shrug helplessly or remain silent in response.

Kinata cursed, "Helms! Turn us around and assist with resc..."

He was cut off as another massive explosion erupted off the bow of another supply ship.

Even in the vaccum of space, Kinata could imagine hearing the screeching of twisted metal as the bow cracked, leaving a gapping hole in its armoured bow. Kinata could tell from the damage, that the ship, _Southern Runner_ , would sink slowly, giving her sailors and soldiers much more time to escape then those of the _Corona_ , the cargo might even be salvageable.

Up and down his convoy, ships were struck by unseen enemies. The merchant ship, _Surveyor_ , was struck twice mid-ship and broken in half. It sank quickly, vanishing in a fiery explosion, and to Kinata's dismay and horror, he could not see any survivors, as he surveyed the scene through his view port. Next hit was the cargo ship _King of the Sea_ as it listed and sunk as the _Corona_ had just moments before. A few minutes later the heavy cruiser, _The Vengeance_ was struck in the engines, jamming it in place, forcing the ship to come to a halt.

Then there was silence.

"Helm..." Kinata called again after several minutes of quiet and burning ships and debris outside in view of the bridge, "turn us around... assist with rescue operations..."

Kinata was furious. What kind of honourless bastard fights like that? Striking at unarmed and almost helpless cargo ships, and merchantmen? Pirates he could understand, they were motivated by greed, they would at least take the cargo, but this? This was just senseless.

* * *

 _2623 September 19th Earth Standard Calendar, Captain Frantz, Prowler U-031 tracking Separatist Convoy_

Beneath the cover of the cloaking fields, the prowlers beat a hasty retreat from the convoy. All around him the men cheered, and congratulated each other, slapping themselves on the back and gripping forearms. Frantz joined his men in celebration, allowing a rare, real smile to grace his worn, weather beaten face.

Five ships had been hit, four sunk. Not bad for just a probing attack.

As he raised his hands to calm his crew, he knew that this was just the beginning. They would return, they would leave the Separatists ships dead in the void. They would starve the Separatist forces on the southern front.

* * *

 _25031 Galactic Standard Calendar, Rear-Admiral Kinata, Separatist Navy, Convoy 092 enroute to Mechis_

The recovery was still slow going. They had rescued all that they could, many were wounded, and disoriented; few had any idea of what had hit them. Theories ranged from the force being angry wanting revenge for some transgression, to sabotage, or an invisible attacker who had some sort of cloaking device.

The cruiser _The Vengeance_ , wasn't repairable right now, they would have to tow it back dry dock; Kinata's men had already hooked it up to the cruiser _Empire's Fury_ , and the oil tankers _Young Luck_ and _Grandfather_ where already salvaging cargo from the supply ship _Southern Runner_ , whose bow had been badly damaged.

Kinata was cautious. He had ordered extra Vulture droid patrols to be posted, and for the ships to remain at alert. He himself had gone down to the infirmary; these were his men. Men who had just died, who had just shed their blood for their cause, for their nation, and for him; Kinata would see that sacrifice with his own eyes.

Moans, and cries of pain, greeted his ears as he pushed his way into the infirmary. Most had already been treated, clean bandages and fresh stitches held together jagged wounds, and covered freshly burned skin.

Undaunted by the scenes of carnage, the Rear-Admiral made his way through the rows of beds, shaking hands, talking to his men, learning anything more that he could about the attacks.

He didn't get much more than from the sailors on his ship, they were all just as confused as everyone else in the fleet.

* * *

 _2623 September 19th Earth Standard Calendar, Captain Frantz, Prowler U-031 tracking Separatist Convoy_

"Damn! Their protecting them like mother hens." Frantz cursed as he viewed the convoy through the viewport of the Prowler. The Prowlers had returned to the wounded convoy immediately after pausing to recharge their cloaking systems, only to find eight serviceable warships patrolling tightly around the four surviving supply ships.

Any attack they made would be spotted. It was one of the down sides of the new torpedoes. The Prowlers had to be fairly close to the ships to increase their chances of hitting their targets. This meant that the trail caused by the speeding torpedoes was visible to the eyes, and Frantz did not have the firepower to take on that many Separatist ships.

Frantz wanted those ships sunk. Every ship that he and his men killed meant less ammunition, supplies and droids for the Separatist war machine. It meant less fuel for their foundries and factories producing tanks and heavy ordinance. It meant less fuel for their army. It meant for every ship sunk, more of his men might return home alive.

Then he had an idea.

"Mechanist, take us up just outside of canon range, then fire off a torpedo at those two ships salvaging cargo."

The Mechanist twisted around in shock at the Captains' orders. "Are you insane? If we decloak..."

"Then the Sepi's will attack us. They will see us, and thinking that we were the only one responsible for the attack earlier in the day, they will chase us..."

"Leaving the convoy unprotected..." The Mechanist finished, stroking his thick moustache. "Devious, Captain Frantz. Very devious."

Frantz smiled without humour. "It is one of the ways the wolves hunt polar bear cubs. One attracts the attention of the mother, and when she goes to chase it away, the rest of the pack strikes. We'll try that tactic here. Get us underway, my friend."

* * *

 _25031 Galactic Standard Calendar, Rear-Admiral Kinata, Separatist Navy, Convoy 092 enroute to Mechis_

 _"Portside! Portside! Ready cannons!"_ The 1st officer's warning sounded throughout the _Soul of Fire_. Rear-Admiral Kinata, raced up from the infirmary, as alarm bells began to clang, calling the ship to arms.

As he left the lower deck, he raced to the bridge. Upon arrival a screen showed the enemy vessel... something appeared among the stars, just outside cannon range. It looked like a animal, a hunter in its shape.

Then he saw it, a large, thin wake of smoke shooting from the mouth of the hunter, heading straight for the freighters assisting with the salvaging operation. Unable to avoid the incoming wake, the freighter _Young Luck_ was struck mid ship, a gaping hole torn in her side.

So this was the thing responsible for the deaths of his men, and the destruction of his ships. Kinata's eyes narrowed, that thing, that ship, was going to die. He gestured for his communications officer to give the order for a general attack, but it was unneeded as several of his cruisers had already launched a volley at the ship.

They were out of range, their volleys landing harmlessly into empty space, but his military ships were already advancing at combat speed, hoping to be the one to sink this new enemy, hoping to be the one who avenged their comrades.

Kinata was not going to be denied his prize. "Helm! Full speed ahead! Cannon batteries! Fire at will! Don't bother trying to disable it! I want that thing resting at the bottom of the hell tonight!"

The men raised a cheer as the first volley from the _Soul of Fire_ 's trebuchets was released, more in a show of rage than an actual attempt to hit their target. The ship turned and fled, as it caught sight of the seven CIS cruisers and single battleship heading straight for it.

Kinata was surprised at the speed of which this new whale ship was able to move, but was confident that his ships would catch it. Maybe he wouldn't sink it. If it was able to move this fast there no was telling what the Separatists could learn, there was no telling what new technology could be gathered from this new enemy.

Kinata grinned; the hunt was on.

* * *

 _2623 September 19th Earth Standard Calendar, Captain Valenski, Prowler U-251 tracking Separatist Convoy_

Valenski, Captain of Prowler U-251, blinked in surprise as he watched through his view screen, as eight of the massive CIS ships turned northwards and moved away from the convoy, leaving it virtually unprotected. Giving him and the five Prowlers a perfect opportunity to strike at the freighters, and the two cruisers tethered together.

He felt an eager grin tug at his lips, as the convoy escorts moved farther and farther away from their charges.

"Message from the chief for yah, sah." The communications officer spoke in that strange drawl.

"He's leadin' the enemy away and clearnin' a path. He orders us to attack them CIS ships while they're undefended."

Finally. Action.

The Prowler sprang to life as Valenski gave the order. Two torpedoes where loaded in the tube. Valenski would target the two cruisers who had been left behind, and then the Prowlers would descend on the helpless freighters like wolves upon an unprotected herd.

He watched as the two torpedoes slame into the hull of the cruiser that had been acting as a tug for the one who had been wounded in their last attack. The explosion ripped through the metal hull, ripping the steal apart, allowing the precious air to rush out of the lower decks.

He watched with savage glee, as the massive warship listed, as men on the tethered ship began to drift, never to reawaken again. Dooming its crew to a cruel fate. The living ones Valenski supposed, the majority droid crew would continue to operate until they either ran out of power or found.

Nothing could save them. They were already dead. A second Prowler had already selected that ship as its target and had launched its deadly payload. The first torpedo missed its intended target, but the second slammed into the stern, destroying the already damaged engines, and tearing a great hole in the rear of the ship.

The freighters began to panic and attempted to scatter. Chaos reigned in the convoy, as the ships fled in all directions, two almost colliding with each other and another, unwittingly, passed dangerously close to the Prowler that had just hit one of the cruisers.

The captain of Prowler U-251 was not going to let such an opportunity escape him. A torpedo was quickly loaded, and launched. The captain watched, eagerly waiting for the tell-tale sign of one of their deadly torpedoes making a kill.

The Torpedo sped towards its helpless victim, who was unable to do anything, but watch in horror as its doom sped right for its port side hull.

The torpedo struck true, but instead of exploding it slammed into the side of the ship, and then sank into the darkness of space. A dud. The freighter began to flee away towards its destination were one last ambush had been laid by four other Prowlers.

Even as he gave the order, one of the cruisers shook as a second unseen explosive device slammed into her already devastated hull. The poor ship could no longer bear the strain, and split in half, sending the crew to the scrapheap.

The fleeing freighter steadily picked up steam, her frame belching out black smoke, as she turned north, and fled from the ambush, hoping to reach the protection of the squadron.

Valenski had already spotted the fleeing ship and had acted accordingly; none where to escape their ambush. The pilot had guided the Prowler so that it rested at an angle, aiming just in front of the fleeing barge. Two of the Torpedos were already loaded and ready.

"Fire!" Valenski barked, as the freighter moved past them, slowly building momentum.

The escape attempt was all for not, as the two torpedoes struck, one after another. The first struck the bow, hitting it hard, tearing metal like thin rice paper, the second detonated mid ship. The freighter ground to a halt as explosion rocked the entirety of the ship.

The convoy had been ravaged. Unable to defend themselves, the freighters where little more than sitting ducks. The Prowlers tore into the disorganized and panicking ships, attacking them at will, killing them as they tried to flee.

Smoke rose into the inky blackness, as burning ships sank slowly into the void.

In a matter of minutes, the convoy was destroyed. The freighters and barges had all either been sunk, or were sinking. Their crew that managed to survive in the escape pods.

* * *

 _25031 Galactic Standard Calendar, Rear-Admiral Kinata, Separatist Navy, Convoy 092 enroute to Mechis_

Kinata snarled in anger, as he looked out at the nothingness. The hunter ship was proving illusive. Despite his ships going at full speed, the smaller ship had managed to stay just out of range, as it led them farther and farther away from the convoy.

"Sir the convoy is being attacked!"

Kinata turned in surprise; there on the horizon, Kinata could see the smoke, and the bright flash of an explosion. The convoy was in trouble. It had been a trick, and he had fallen for it, he had taken almost every ship available to chase one enemy, never thinking that were there was one there would most likely be more.

"Helm!" Kinata screamed as he pounded his fist against the wall, "Turns around now! Full steam back to the convoy! Alert the other ships; have the _Pride_ , and _Inferno_ continue the chase, all others are to follow us south to assist with the rescue!"

As he felt his ship move, turning south and racing to help those who he had abandoned, Kinata casually reached up to his shoulders, to the epaulettes of his rank, and slowly removed them. It had been his proudest moment when he had received his commission, now he knew that his rank would not survive this disaster.

Where once there had been several ships of the most powerful navy afloat, there was now only wreckage. Crew in the escape pods from the freighters manned by a crew with no droids in its make up, begging for help for the wounded and rescue.

Kinata felt a wave of depression wash over him. There sinking off to the west, was the proud bow of _The Vengeance_ , a ship that had over a dozen years of proud and honourable service, sunk by enemy it could not see; sunk by an enemy it could not attack.

Behind him, the cruiser _Sword_ , was struck by their unseen enemies. Kinata wasn't surprised, he had a feeling that the killers would be waiting for them. All around him, men shouted for orders, even as the _Sword_ was struck again, fire erupting in large, thirty foot plumes and cascading over the deck.

The _Sword_ , a ship that had been decorated for her defence of the battleship _Regal_ , when a dozen Republic light cruisers had come across the damaged ship as it was making repairs. It was unfair, a ship like that deserved to fight, deserved to defy her end. Instead she cracked in half, and sank quickly, a tomb for over three hundred men and hundred more droids.

Up and down the line, the scene was repeated. Cruisers where struck, even his beloved _Soul of Fire_ was hit several times, atmosphere leaking out of the lower decks.

Men were screaming for him, demanding orders, demanding direction. Kinata could only stare at the destruction of his command. He could only stare as his ships were destroyed and his men killed before they could even fight back.

The _Soul_ was struck again. Shaking as another explosion tore another hole in the battleship, another explosion claiming the lives of his men, and there was nothing he could do. His ship was doomed, they were doomed, he was doomed.

He turned to address his men. They were running here and there, dosing fires, sealing decks to keep the atmosphere in the ship. Kinata knew it was all for naught. They were done.

"Men." Kinata started, his voice calm and collected, as though he was merely commenting on the weather. "Men you have served your nation well, and it has been my honour to lead each and every one of you through this war. Now I must give you one final order: abandon ship. The _Soul_ is doomed, abandon ship."

* * *

 _2623 September 19th Earth Standard Calendar, Captain Valenski and Captain Frantz, Prowler U-251 and Prowler U-031 tracking Separatist Convoy_

Beneath the cover of the cloaking field, Valenski watched as the massive battleship shuddered once again under the blow of a torpedo. He watched as escape pods jettisoned from the ship. He watched as the proud ship, still flying the banner of the CIS, slowly began to break apart under combined onslaught of the four Prowlers.

They had done it. Eighteen ships of the most powerful navy in the galaxy, now rested as hulks adrift in space. Eighteen ships, ten of them warships, without a single loss of their own. All around him, the men and women of Prowler U-251 cheered and celebrated. They had struck their first blow against the CIS, and they had lived to tell about it.

Frantz and Prowler U-031 had returned to the convoy, after finishing the two cruisers that had remained to chase after him. Their surviving crews where now in chains and under guard. Although every instinct he had, screamed at him to let these bastards float forever, Frantz just couldn't; it was a cruel fate he would not wish upon any sailor.

The crimes of the Separatists were great, but Frantz would consider them justly avenged with each ship, squadron and convoy the Prowlers and the Wolfpacks sank.

Until then, he would treat these men as fellow sailors; he would give them the option of living, if they surrendered. As his Prowler and the others, decloaked, Separatist survivors were already signalling them, desperate to escape the certain doom of the grave.

Frantz slapped his light combat armour and helmet on as he made his way to the rear hanger where three squads of marines waited for him fully armed and waiting for trouble. Reaching the commlink panel on the side of the hanger he set it to broadcast on all frequencies.

"I am Captain Frantz, of the Orion Arm Self Defence Force Navy. I will give you this offer only once. If you surrender now, you will spend the rest of the war as prisoners, but you will survive to one day see your families again. Resist, or reject this offer, and we will leave you to your own devices. You have one minute to answer."

It was usurping that most took him up on his offer. As he and his men rescued those who surrendered, and put down those who attacked, Frantz turned to radioed Valenski.

 _"What now?"_ Valenski asked.

"We are redeploying to sector five and are to await further orders from command! U-031 out."

* * *

 _25031 Galactic Standard Calendar, Rear-Admiral Kinata, Separatist Navy, Convoy 092 enroute to Mechis_

As his ship creaked and groaned due to the stress, he could hear explosions ripping through the hull of his ship as he sat alone in the bridge on the captain's chair gazing out into the void fill with debris and burning wreckage of his convey and escorts. He watched as his attacker's ships appeared and started to pick up the escape pods. As his ship tor itself apart, Kinata smiled as he knew his crew, his men would survive and see the end of the war.


	8. The 317th Legion

The First Contact War Short Stories

The 317th Legion

" _The best thing about the future is that it comes one day at a time"_

 _25030 Galactic Standard Calendar, Jedi Knight Rena Shan, Ithor_

The Republic transport rattled as it entered the lower atmosphere of Ithor, arms closing as it touched down on the surface. The earth and plant life twisted under the weight of the ship and moments later the ramp lowered to touch it as well. Light flooded the dark outpost; walls of barracks, supply creates and troopers. Two clones stood at attention; covered in a spattering of chipped blood red paint on filthy white armour, blasters at their sides. Foot falls could be heard coming from within the ship and shortly after the figure came into view. The hands of the troopers flew to their brows.

The person made their way down the gangway and made a beeline to the pair. Her Jedi robes covered her but the two clones could see she was slim and stood at about five foot seven. Draped in a brown hood, her face was hidden but she spoke with a upper-class, soft and welcoming tone; "Please; be at easy men."

"Sir yes, sir" they barked together.

Lowering his hand and relaxing his shoulders one spoke; "You are General Rena Shan?"

"I am, and your names?"

The first spoke again; "CT- 78807," He talked with a flat voice and motioned his hand to his partner; "And this is CT-77265."

"Friends call me 'Scratch'," he said as he shook his head, "and his 'reg thumper' is Blithe."

"Will you show the General some respect and not curse in front of her!" Blithe snapped.

"Only one I ain't showin' respect is you" Scratch sighed.

"Well it's nice to meet you, boys. But I'd like to speak to the captain, please."

Scratch chuckled; "Cap' is out on recon at the moment-"

"He should be back any second" finished the obviously annoyed clone.

"In that case; I'd like to see all the facilities, please" Rena asked.

"Right away ma'am; first the mess then the barracks and finally your quarters. Scratch; go tell the boys to clean up."

"Yeah yeah" he mumbled as he walked towards a grouping of buildings. They were prefabricated blocks suspended on four legs with a staircase leading to a heavy door. He walked to the middle of three buildings, slamming a button to open the door. As he made his way in he removed his helm and spoke to his brothers on the inside;

"New general here, boys. And she's-" but was cut off as the door slid shut.

"Sorry about him," Blithe apologized as they started walking to a much larger building. From the look of it had to have been here before the Republic's occupation, maybe a farmhouse or some sort of storage, "I wouldn't worry, the rest of the 317th are the best batch of soldiers you'll meet."

"That's all right, I have dealt with rude people before" Rena confirmed as the crossed the enclosed court yard, high walls closing around them. As they came upon the doorway she looked side to side at the tall towers at each corner of the compound, four in total. Then shot a glance at the large gate that lead to the rest of the moon and wondered when the captain would return.

"Coming, ma'am?" the clone asked, standing aside so she could enter the well lit mess hall. When she entered all eyes swivelled to meet hers, three dozen pairs of brown orbs. Some put down their utensils well others continued to eat. This annoyed Blithe.

"Jedi on deck!" he barked and as he did the clones shot from their seats. "Better" he said under his breath. The soldiers stood at attention until she rose her hand to lower them.

"This is just some of the company ma'am," the lieutenant explained, "The others are sleeping or out on recon."

"With the captain?" she asked as they turned to leave.

"No, not all. There are two squads out at the moment. One lead by the captain; the other by lieutenant Bull."

"I was also informed this is just one company of the 317th?" Rena questioned.

"Correct. The main force was on Atraken."

"Was?"

"Yes, did High Command not inform you?"

"No."

"It did happen quite recently, so I don't expect the news to be widely known yet," Blithe stopped and sighed, "The rest of the 317th was wiped out on Atraken." He spoke flatly, looking off into the stars.

The Jedi Knight froze as morning feel over her.

 _A whole legion? How is that even possible?!_

Her lieutenant answered her unasked question; "The Seps' unmasked some new weapon. Wiped our boys out."

Rena lowered her head but continued on to the barracks; "You have my sympathies, lieutenant."

"Thank you, General" he said as he walked up the same stairs Scratch had. As the door slide opened the both were shocked at what they saw; Scratch and another clone throwing punches.

Smiling, Scratch was stuck several times in the bare face before Blithe could jump it.

"Boxer! Scratch! What do you think you're doing!"

"Awe haar'" Scratch swore, lip bleeding, "Good hit, Box."

"Took 'um like a chap, Scratchy, like always" his opponent confirmed.

"Damn right!" a third trooper agreed.

The room erupted into laughter and the lieutenant did his best to calm them. With no avail; the Jedi walked further into the room and into view. Her men fell silent and stared. Slowly, she removed her hood to reveal her face. A human, she had blue eyes and short cut grey-brown hair with two short braided pony tails running down the sides of her face. She placed her hands behind her back and stood as tall as she could. She was silent for a long moment before letting out a heavy sigh.

"As you have most likely guessed; I am your new general. My name is Rena Shan and I'm sure your captain would not be pleased to hear of this on the day of my arrival. So..." she began to walk up the room, right to Scratch and Boxer, "I will make you a deal, that's what us Jedi are good at."

"And what would that be, ma'am?" Scratch asked, a hit of a laugh in his voice.

"I will not tell the captain of this if it does not happen again. I do understand you may have been 'playing' but there is a time and place to train and this is not it."

"Well said, ma'am" Blithe added.

She turned sharply on him with a spin of her heels; "that goes for you as well, lieutenant. With the captain gone you and the other officers are in control and letting your men act this way is unacceptable."

"Well said" Boxer snorted.

"Y-yes well yo-" Blithe stumbled but was cut short as the hum of speeders raced into the courtyard outside.

"That would be the cap'um" Scratch said loudly, whipping the blood fully from his face.

"We will finish this later" Rena promised, eyeing the three clones. She turned to face the door and started to it then made her way outside. Five speeder bikes had been parked on the far side of the base and their drivers followed what Rena presumed to be the captain. He talked to a trooper to his left; "Make sure you fill out the report in the morning, for now go get some chow and hit the rack."

Then he turned to his left and place a hand on a limping trooper; "And make sure you go see Patches."

"Yes, sir" they all said at once.

With a nod of his head he continued to the three metal structures. He was hard to see in the dimly lit night; most of his phase I armour was painted in a fashion similar to Commander Fox. His helm was the same colour but around the mouth and up the side it bore large, white teeth. On his helmet stood a fold down range finger, also he had a single DC-17 pistol on his hip and slung over his shoulder he held a DC-15 rifle. Finally, a bandoleer stretched across his chest to a pauldron his left shoulder.

Noting the new face at his base he quickly walked over; he saw Boxer and March standing in the doorway and Crew halfway down the stairs. In front of them stood a woman dressed in a long brown robe, hood removed. He noticed she wore what looked like leather bracers, shin guards and a tight black body suit. By the robes alone he could tell she was a Jedi, he'd seen them before. So when he saw the slim metal hilt hanging from her belt his guess was confirmed. As the distance closed she squared her shoulders and lowered her head, "I am Rena Shan, your new general. Lieutenant Blithe was kind enough to show me around well you were away, I presume you are the captain?"

He eyed her for a moment, she was awfully young to be a Jedi Knight.

"You are correct, I am Captain Korun," he rose his hand to his helm, "on behalf of 'Nexu' Company and the 317th; I welcome you to Outpost Gulf."

"It is a lovely outpost," she said with a smile, "Now please; at ease."

He lowered his hand shot a quick glare to his men under his visor and looked back to the Jedi: "Have you been shown your quarters?"

"Not yet."

"If you'd follow me then, General." He turned and lead her to a small shack on the edge of the compound.

"I know it's small and old but it has more privacy then one of the prefabs."

"I appreciate the thought, Captain. Would you see me in?"

"If you'd like."

Rena pressed the button to open the door and walked into the dark room. The lights suddenly turned on as Korun reached his arm out and flipped their switch. The room itself was clean but dust particles still flew about. There was a small bed in the corner and a desk on the other wall. A square table sat in the middle of the room along with two chairs. Finally, a locker rested against the wall, door locked shut.

"Would you sit, Captain? I know it's late but we have much to go over."

"Yes ma'am" Korun took a set at the table, leaving his rifle by the door.

She walked over to the bed, removing her robe. She folded it quickly and place it on the mattress. Also, under her cloak she had hidden a small leather bag which she put down on the floor. With her robes gone the captain got a better look at his new Jedi; he was surprised how thin she was, but he could tell there was much strength he had yet to see. From the look of it, Korun guessed the body suit she wore was made of a material that would hide her heat signature. Save the gauntlets and leg guards she didn't seem to wear any sort of armour, which annoyed the captain. He figured there was some reason, the Jedi always had some reason for what that did. Around her waist sat a belt with many hard leather pouches and bags, she also removed this. Gingerly resting it on the bed.

Finally, she turned to face him; "You know Captain; you're welcome to take off your helmet."

"Oh yes, sorry General" he removed his helm and placed it on his lap. Rena swiftly studied his face before reaching back into her bag for a small box of tea. He looked like every other clone she had seen of course, but he had his unique features. The first thing she noticed was that his hair was red, from dying she didn't know, but was shaved down to the skin. Next, was something at forced a gasp from her; his right upper lip was thoroughly scared. A chunk of flesh was missing, revealing a glimpse of a tooth, and two lines ran up to his cheek.

He had noticed her staring, but didn't say a word.

"Sorry, Captain. I didn't mean to stare" she apologized.

"It's okay, ma'am. I find myself doing the same thing."

"May I ask how it happened?" Rena asked as she filled a tea kettle with water.

"Sep' sniper. Scratch is the only reason I still have my head, pushed me out of the bulk of the hit."

"You seem to command an excellent group of men."

"Thank you, General. The boys and I have been thought a lot and from what just happened…" he sucked in a breath and closed his eyes, "we've been though a lot" he restated.

"I was told what happened. I knew Master Katola, he was a good man, a wonderful teacher too."

"He was a great man. Always looked out for his troopers, never left his men behind."

It took her a moment to reply; "I hope I can fill his shoes."

"I wouldn't worry about that, General. You have nothing to prove to anyone, just do what you think is best."

"I appreciate the trust-"

"Don't misunderstand me, General" he cut in, "we have faith in you, as a Jedi. But you have to earn our trust. I mean no disrespect, General."

Rena found herself stunned.

Had her captain just insulted her? With a straight face? She'd never heard of this happening to any of the other Jedi, why was Korun any different?

She sighed, the Jedi knew her captain was right. The clones had been fighting this war long before her so she understood why they'd need time to adjust to a new member of their company. Especially to a new general. She had been made a knight at the same time as the Orionians had arrived, the Forceless humans had reinforced the Republic with twenty thousand divisions with another ten on the way, about four hundred and fifty million men. And that was out of the fifty-seven thousand division they had as well as the fleets they had. She supposed if a civilisation in the unknown region needed a large military. It worried her that a interstellar civilisation with that much military might had not been found or detected by either the Republic or the Jedi Order. She supposed they could be from the North-Western end of the Unknown regions as the few ships that went out there reported nothing but Deathworld after Deathworld.

"Very well, Captain. Then I hope you are willing to bear with me" she said with a smile.

"That is my job, Ma'am."

Rena chuckled to herself as she stood, the pot of water she'd put on was beginning to bubble. Without asking she removed two cups from a shelf and filled them both with the steeping liquid, then placed one in front of the captain. A confused look crossed his face but he gently took the mug and blew away the steam; shutting his eyes as he drank the hot beverage. He noticed how the tea was the perfect temperature. Not too cold yet hot enough to warm him.

 _Is this some sort of Jedi thing, or is she just really good at making tea?_ Korun wondered to himself as he finished it off.

"Thank you, General. That was... refreshing."

"Oh it's nothing, just trying to be a nice host."

"Never-the-less; thank you."

"Well then you're welcome" she sat opposite of him and rose the tea to her lips and inhaled their scent.

"So, General, how goes the war?" the captain asked abruptly, "being so fair in the Outer Rim we don't get much news."

"Well the we're being pushed back on all fronts but our new Orionian allies are halting the Separatist offensive and are about to launch their own."

"That's good to hear" Korun said with a shake of his head and scratch of his chin.

"What about here?"

Korun sighed; "I'm sure you've heard what happened to the rest of the 317th?"

"Yes, you have my apologies."

"Thank you, General, but this is war."

She nodded, reluctantly.

The captain started again; "the rest of the 317th was on Atraken trying to take the main city and the Seps' used some kind of weapon and wiped the out. We were here to look for a secret base that was relaying coms back to clacker HQ. So that's what we've been doing, but now we're looking for any info on the weapon."

"Well, I was given no explicit orders so we'll continue to do what you've been doing, Captain."

"It will be a lot easier to find anything with a Jedi-" Korun started to agree but was cut off by him hum of his comlick.

 _"Captain. Blithe here."_

"Report, lieutenant."

 _"Lieutenant Bull has yet to return from his run and when I tired to com him there was no response."_

"Ever think he's just ignoring you?"

 _"That's what I thought at first but I had Frosty com him to, he got the same effect."_

"Bull's never late, " Korun explained to his confused Jedi, "all right; go to the com room and try to boost your signal. He may have gotten lost. If you hear nothing in the next ten minutes, gather: Angel, Lefty and Runner and meet me by the speeders."

 _"Yes, sir. Blithes out."_

"Well, General. Ready for your first midnight hick though a battle zone?"

Rena swallow hard and nodded.

* * *

The smells and sounds of the planet's jungle whipped around Rena as she speed through the dents wood. She'd never really liked speeders, or flying in general, and much rather preferred to keep her feet on the ground. This way she could better feel the Force around her. When up in the air, Rena felt like she was somehow discontented from it. It had always been like this, seance her first flight from her home to the Jedi temple.

Thankfully, tonight was somehow different. Rena could feel her squad around her; the Captain to her right and the other four riding behind them. She didn't dare look back, her focus was on the whining trail in front of her, but sensing them with the Force was enough. She'd just meet these men and had yet to earn their trust, which the captain so kindly reminded her. However; it was well known that Jedi became attached to their men, which went against the Code, but it couldn't be helped. It's hard not to become connected to those you fight beside.

Rena smiled to herself as she Force pushed a fallen tree aside.

 _Even if I don't have to, I will. I will gain the trust and respect of these men. I am in charge of their lives; it's the least I can do._

Her train of though was derailed as her comlick beeped. The Jedi slowed, then stopped beside Grimm; "Something wrong?"

"It's getting late, ma'am. I think we should split the team and cover more ground. Teams of two."

Rena pondered Grimm's opinion for a moment before nodding her head; "I agree, but let's divide into teams of three. Safer that way."

"Yes, ma'am," the Captain turned to his men and began to give order, "Runner and Angel go with the General. Crew and Lefty; with me."

"Yes, sir!"

The two troopers slide up next to the Jedi, she gave them small nod.

"Where too, General?" Runner asked.

"Well the Captain is going North so I suppose we go South."

"We'll follow you, Ma'am" Angel spook up.

Looking back to Runner, Rena earned a nod of approval and restarted her engine; "Captain, we're going South."

"Roger that, General. I'll com you if we find anything. Keep your eyes open."

"Will do, Captain," Rena smiled to herself, "Runner, Angel; how many were in Bull's squad?"

"Four brothers and Bull himself" Angel said. The clone had a soft voice, barely audible over the noises of the forest and roar of the speeders, but was clear and calm. He road next to her, with Runner taking up the back. The three drove for a while in silence as the Jedi scanned the dark wood around them. The forest it's self was alive around them; the singing of nocturnal creators and the crash of a nearby river. But no sign of the clones.

"General, we should check that river" Runner commed from behind.

"Good call, Runner" she replied with a sharp coarse change.

As the bikes came to the edge of the water Rena dismounted, Runner hooped from his speeder to check the treeline and Angel reported back to the Captain.

"Captain, Angel here. We've found a small river and checking it for signs of the Lt."

A few moments past before his commanding officer replied _; "Thanks for the sit rep, Angel. Tell the General that we've found a small cave and are looking into it. What's your location?"_

The trooper read off a list of coordinates from his HUD to his captain and then went on to describe their surroundings.

 _"Very good, Angel. Keep coms open, Korun out."_

Angel swung free his leg and started over to the Jedi. She was on her knees looking into the water.

"Find anything, Ma'am?"

"Nothing of note- wait..." she pointed up the stream, "Angel, do you see that?"

Angel follow Rena finger; he did.

"It looks like a large mass... what is that?"

"I haven't a clue" the Jedi sighed.

"One moment, ma'm" the trooper removed a pair of micro-binoculars from his belt, handing them to his general, "here, Ma'am."

She took them with a nod of thanks and zoomed in on the approaching mass.

"I still can't... wait... on no..." Rena gasped then stood and ran up the shore.

"Runner, get over here!" Angel called out.

By the time the two brothers had reached the Jedi she was bent over the mass, one hand on it's face the other on his torso.

"Shhh it's okay now," she whispered, "it will all be over soon, rest now."

Under her lay a great, dying beast. Horns and teeth and fur. Runner took a step closer but retreated when the beast let out low growl. Both clones levelled their blasters, ready to fire; but Rena rose a hand.

"Don't worry, she has no fight left in her."

As he lowered her hand so too did the clones, the beast let its head fall as well.

"Runner, can you see the wounds on her body?"

"Yes, their blaster burns, Ma'am."

"Can you tell from what kind of weapon?"

He cocked his head to one side; "Well Frosty's the weapons expert but I'd say small arms. No bigger then this," he hefted his DC-15.

"Droids?"

"Couldn't tell you, Ma'am. Might have been Bull's... oh"

"Let's hope not," she leaned down and kissed the head of the beast, "close your eyes, old one."

As Rena rose she removed her sabre from her belt. The Rena ignited one end of her weapon, blue light filled the night and one swift movement the beast was at peace. She lowered her head.

"Let's get moving" she ordered.

"Right away, Ma'am" the brothers said together as Rena walked between them.

* * *

Back at their speeders Rena sat on her bike and sighed. Even though she knew she had done the right thing the guilt of killing a defencelessness being stung. It wasn't just the Jedi Code that held the pain there, she'd grown up on a farm and during her early years she was always around animals. Rena always loved her family's cattle, even if she was barely old enough to talk, and always cried when they died. She didn't even need to see it, she just knew; later she understood it was through the Force.

The two clones looked down at their commanding officer with worried looks, the Captain never got like this so they were at a loss. Slowly, Runner tapped his brother with his elbow, gaining his attention. He nodded down at the Jedi, Angle shook his head sharply.

"I'm fine, boys" she said, startling them.

"Are you sure, ma'am?. We can bring you to Patch if you're in pain" Angel offered.

"It's not that kind of pain. I feel it through the Force, nothing can be done."

Runner lowered his head; "I'm sorry you needed to do that, General."

She swung herself back onto her speeder and looked up at the two; "We all have to make hard chooses sometimes, I'll be okay. Thank you, boys."

They nodded and quickly mounted their bikes. She looked back at her troopers.

These are good men, that is for sure.

"All right, let's get moving," she yelled back, "we'll keep heading South to the-"

Rena was cut off by the spike of sound from her com; " _This is Korun. We're under attack; 'Seps."_

Rena froze, not knowing how to response.

"Cap', you still at the cave?" Angel offered.

 _"Yes"_ the Captain said flatly, the sound of blasters ringing out with him.

"We'll be right there," Runner confirmed, "right, General?"

Rena's eyes snapped to his helmet, a black visor stared back but she could tell worried eyes lay behind it.

"Of course" she said with a crack of worry.

The three gunned their bikes back to where the team had split, then followed the trail Grimm had taken. She noticed that there was a slight descending slop to this path.

 _"General, what's your ETA?"_ Korun barked over the comlink.

"Angel?" Rena questioned.

"About five minutes, boss."

 _"Hurry, Lefty's down and we can't get to him."_

Fear shot though Rena.

 _No! It's only the first day, I can't loss a man on the first day!_

She clutched the handles of her bike and pushed it to its limits. Seeing this, her troopers followed her lead. The first thing they heard was the firing of blasters. Shot after shot rang out.

Then they came to a clearing, the cave was set back into an incline. Rena could see a white form in the middle of the field, motionless. The next thing they heard was the yelling of their Captain.

"Come get some you metal kriffers!"

He was standing, one arm around a "dead" droid, blasting away with his rifle. In the other hand (the one holding the droid) he held his sidearm which he used if he began to get outflanked. Behind him knelled Crew, popping off shots with his carbine. He used a fallen tree as cover and kept their enemies off his captains open side. Next to his stood a strangely large clone, who she guessed was Bull, firing rapidly at the crowd of metal. Behind him, leaning ageist to a stilling standing tree, another brother fought. His legs were burnt black by a blaster but he still held his large repeating Z-6. Finally, two clones stood at the mouth of the cave; the pair we're complete opposites. One with a black sunburst on his helm fired so fast with his DC-15 that it was turning red well the other took slow, calculating shots.

Rena's men jumped into the fight, firing right into the crowed of droids with their bikes' heavy blasters. Runner let out a yell as he obliterated two with one shot.

Swiftly, the Jedi Knight flew from her set and sparked her lightsabre. As she came down she took a droid with her, then spun low taking out the legs of six more. Finally, with a toss of her hand, she flung the mass of metal at the remaining droids. A few of the troopers let out a yell of victory but Rena admittedly ran to the side of the fallen solider, he wasn't breathing.

The Captain tossed his makeshift shield to the side and joined the Jedi by Lefty's side. He swore to himself then started to bark orders.

"Bull; get your boys back to HQ and make sure Patch sees to Sixer's leg! Runner; get that bike over here!"

"Yes, sir!" the brothers said in unison.

Korun turned his head to his General; "will he make it?" he said quietly.

Rena rose her head and, holding back the flood of tears, shook her head.

"The shot went right though him. He was dead before he hit the ground..." she answered in the same soft tone.

The Captain was silent for a moment. Then raised his wrist to his helmet; "Patch, this is Korun, get the med bay prepped for one. Blaster shot to the leg."

"Right away, Captain" the medic simply responded.

* * *

As the small group pulled back into the base, Patch was waiting by the ramp of a ship. It's wings and engines had been removed and scorch marks painted themselves along the sides. The medic waved Runner and Bull over, who were lifting their wounded brother. A few brothers came to investigate but Blithe waved them all off, he knew that the Captain wasn't willing to take questions right away and Patch needed space to do his work. Korun stood at the speeders, arms crossed. Cooler, the calm clone from the cave, had offered to carry Lefty back so as he entered the fort every head lowered, giving respect to their fallen brother. Two clones: Tumber and Vex, made their way over to Cooler to help him lift the body and place it in a building in the far back of the compound.

To her surprise, Grimm appeared next to Rena shoulder; "that's where we keep our brothers..." he explained, "we'll have to find a new place to keep them soon."

"H-how many?" she asked, dreading the answer.

The Captain to a moment, then let out a long breath; "thirty-six."

 _Thirty-six! I've lost one and I feel like the swamps of Nar Shaddaa, how can he still lead after losing so many..._

"It's worst then it sounds, General. Most companies lose that in a month. You can thank Patch. He's the reason the body count isn't higher."

"I'll have to do that..." The Jedi began to trail off when she felt a weight on her shoulder.

"You're bring far to hard on yourself, General Shan. If you, Runner and Angel hadn't shown up when you did we most likely wouldn't be having this conversation, you did well."

"That..." Rena paused, not knowing if she should share this with her Captain.

No. He has a right to know.

"...That was the first time I've been in live combat, as a Knight."

Grimm's eyes widened.

"Of course, I've been in small fights well I was still a Padawan but never something that... intense."

"In that case, General, you did very well."

As the two started to walk towards the medic ship a blood-chilling scream cut off their talk. The Captain was first to break off into a run but the Jedi was close behind. When they made it up the ramp and into the refurbished cargo bay Rena gasped; Sixer had been stripped to the table and was laughing hysterically.

"Patch! What the Haran is going on!"

"Well sir," the flustered medic said as he drove a numbing agent into the trooper's led, "Sixer here, is thinking the pain is 'funny'!"

"K'atini!" Sixer roared.

The Capatin made this way over to his restrained brother and put a hand on his head; "That's enough, Vod. Rest now, I'll let you blast more Seps' as soon as you're able. Deal?"

Sixer thought for a moment, mind clouded with meds and adrenaline; "Sounds good boss, I could use a nap," his eyes flutter as he looked over the still studded Jedi, "Thanks... and good night, General," and with that the heavy gunner was out.

Korun let out a sigh and swore under this breath, his day wasn't over yet. He nodded to Patch and made his way out of the grounded ship.

"Coming, General?" he asked.

"Oh! Yes, yes right behind you, Captain."

She followed him back to her small quarters and waited as Korun punch the button, then he stood aside.

"Good night, General."

"You as well, Captain" Rena said wearily.

Before the door slid shut the Captain left a piece of advice that the Jedi would pounded latter during her meditation; "I know how you're feeling, General, I've been there. It comes with the burden of command. All you can do is learn and make sure that you don't let whatever got them killed happen again. This is war, General, no one ever said it was going to be easy."

* * *

 _Codex Update_

 _Orionian Division make up (by the end of the Galactic Civil War/First Contact War), not specialised._

 _15,000 men, 60 tanks, 1,000 Trojan APC/LAV, 700 MTAV, 50 Self Propelled Artillery/MLRS, 100 Towed Artillery, 600 HEEMT_

 _Divisions can become specialised into seven different categories. Armoured Division, Mechanized Division, Motorized Division, Support Division, Marine Division, Airborne Division and Mountain Division. There one further specialization called Frontier Division that is trained to fight on extreme worlds such as Deathworlds, Volcanic worlds, Ocean worlds and other such extremes. Equipment and number of vehicles changes with the specialisation._


	9. Look out ground I'm a-comin Through

The First Contact War Short Stories

Look out ground I'm a-comin through

 _September 4th 2622, Sargeant Jason Harrow, 22nd Marines Division, Capra Province, Kinyen_

Gunfire and the smell of smoke filled the air, the two combined with the pain was making it hard to focus.

Sargeant Jason Harrow leaned heavily against the crumbling wall for cover as several rounds tore past. Leaning out of cover, he fired his M60 at the hostiles that had him and his squad pinned down. The rifle clicked empty making him curse as he dropped back down to reload.

Reaching for a spare magazine on his vest, the 25-year-old Marine saw blood oozing out from under his flak vest and uniform near his stomach. A similar wound was also seen on his right thigh, but the pain of both injuries was numbed due to adrenaline and sheer will.

It was supposed to be a routine mission. Recon the sector outside the city of Capra close to the CIS lines where a lot of suspicious activity in the area for the last two months had been reported. With large amounts CIS forces in the local area, the Brass had several squads stationed nearby to make sure that there wouldn't be a surprise Sepi offensive.

The Sargeant's squad was on patrol when one of their hummers struck a hidden IED and exploded. The survivors leapt out and took cover in a small abandoned town as a large group of men with assault rifles and small arms fire began shooting at them. The ten-man squad was down to six with two others wounded and being treated. And the hostiles had them boxed into a small two-story house close to the town's edge.

"Overlord! This is Bravo Team, where's our damn backup!" Jason shouted into his comm as he slammed a new clip into his rifle.

" _The closest Warbird is currently enroute to your squad's current position. ETA 10 minutes."_ replied Overlord.

"10 minutes guys! Keep 'em held off!" he shouted to his squad as he started shooting again.

One of the others dropped down next to him. "Sir, your wounded!" shouted Corporal Donovan seeing the blood.

"I know Corporal! How are the others?" asked the Sargeant as he managed to drop two hostiles before they could fire a shot at them.

"Stable, but we need to get them outta here for better treatment!" replied Donovan as he fired a few shots.

Several shots rang out, "Fuck! Richardson's down!" shouted Private Moss as he checked the downed man's vitals. "Shit he's gone!" the Private said taking the man's tags before resuming his position.

"Fuck." Jason muttered as he took down another hostile.

" _Bravo Team, this his Wingman 5-2. That you out there Harlow?"_ The Sargeant hit his comm,

"It's me 5-2, how far away are you? We got casualties and wounded down here."

" _3 minutes and closing Maverick. You guys got an open space for me to land?"_ Jason looked at their surroundings quickly, looking out the back window from the bottom floor.

"There's a large enough backyard behind our position, we'll pop smoke."

 _'Roger that.'_ said the pilot. Jason looked over to Evers who had dropped down to reload, "Moss! Go out back and pop a smoke so we can get outta here! We'll cover you!" he shouted. The Private nodded before taking off out the backdoor while the Sargeant and his team kept the hostiles from getting closer.

"We're gonna make it, aren't we sir?" asked Corporal Donovan.

Jason looked at him, the guy was two years younger than him and had hopes for going far in his military career. One he intended to make sure continued. "Yeah, yeah we are Corporal. I'll make damn sure of it." he said sternly making the younger soldier nod before resuming the fight.

" _Sir! The Warbird's here!"_ shouted Evers over the comm.

"Good! Get back in here and help Donovan move the wounded out back, I'll cover you!" replied Jason. Denning took the que and fell back to help the two other members of their squad move to the extraction point.

When they made it out back, the Sargeant slumped harder against the wall. The pain from his wounds and the blood loss had started to take its toll on him. But he refused to let it affect him in front of the others. He was the only high ranked official since everything started with their Lieutenant having died in the IED explosion.

He needed to keep his men together, focused on surviving and getting back.

A round struck his cover forcing the soldier back into the situation at hand. Shaking his head, he leaned out and emptied the rest of his clip as he heard the sound of engines outside, followed closely by the sound of a .50cal powering up before the building that the hostiles had taken refuge in started being ripped apart by the heavier slugs.

" _Sargeant, get the lead out!"_ called Wingman.

Staggering to his feet, Jason began limping as quickly as possible toward the back where the Warbird was landing in the middle of the very large backyard. The VTOL touching down and two other soldiers leapt out to help the wounded inside.

Denning saw the Sargeant and ran over, slinging the his left arm across his shoulders as he helped him to the VTOL. "You alright sir?" he asked as they reached the Warbird.

"I'll live, let's get the fuck outta here!" he said over the VTOL's engines. Once everyone was loaded up, they started rising into the air to head back to base.

Denning took out the medical kit and started working on Jason's injuries. "Fuck...sir the wounds are pretty bad. We gotta get you back to base ASAP." he said putting pressure on the wounds and wrapping them in gauze.

Before Jason could speak Wingman shouted, "Rocket!" from the cockpit. The Warbird pitched to the left hard dodging the high explosive as it streaked by.

The sudden movement of the Warbird caused Donovan to lose his footing and tumble toward the open hatch. Jason quickly leapt to the side and grabbed the Corporal's hand before he could fall out into the open air.

The wound in his stomach flared painfully from the sudden movement making him grunt. "Gotcha!" he shouted through the pain as he helped the younger man back into the Warbird allowing him to grab onto the benches inside.

Another Rocket shot past forcing the Warbird to pitch to the side again. With nothing to grab onto, Jason suddenly slid out of the compartment and fell out. He was vaguely aware of the others screaming his name as he tumbled through open air. The Warbird was about 200ft in the air and the grasslands below would not help to soften the fall. The pain from his wounds long forgotten as the ground quickly rose up to meet him.


End file.
